


Broken Feather

by OsytheUnderSiege



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Canon, Fluff and Angst, rogue adaar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsytheUnderSiege/pseuds/OsytheUnderSiege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An outsider to his mercenary group, the Archer Adaar finds himself the leader of the Inquisition. With his troubled past, growing adoration for the Seeker that imprisoned him, the attention of the Ambassador and the pull of a figure from his past, will he become the leader everyone expects him to be? Rated M NSFW. Mostly Canon with "fill in the gaps" Fluffy romance and combat violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Divine’s Writ

**Author's Note:**

> This is a not for profit fanfiction, what is recognizable from the game does not belong to me. Characters and some dialogue are pulled from the game. I only own my imagination and am merely an obsessed fan "playing dolls" in the wonderful world they created.

Chapter 1: The Divine’s Writ

“We lash out at the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did.”  
-Cassandra Pentaghast

 

The rusty chantry door creaks under my palm. The frame is larger than most doors and I comfortably enter, even still if I had my horns they probably would have scratched the wood. Leliana in her lavender hood and Cassandra in her sturdy riveted plate armor stand behind a large wooden table with a vast wrinkled map on it. They contrast each other completely, pastel to dark purple, each an end of a monochromatic spectrum, both intimidating in different ways, and both equally beautiful. Chancellor Roderick turns toward me from the side, his finger pointed at me in accusation he growls, “chain him, I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” His voice is as grating as it was at the forward camp when he was challenging both hands of the late Divine, I instantly didn't like him then and a second encounter isn't improving his standing.  
Leliana stands motionless and silent with her arms crossed, the leather of her gloves squeaks as she tightens her posture. Cassandra pushes back from the table and looks behind me where two guards stand on either side of the door, “disregard that, and leave us” she waves her hand in dismissal then casts her dark eyes back down to the map on the table.  
The guards nod at her and back respectfully out of the room. The chancellor is not pleased, he marches over to the edge of the table, his pocked face in anguished rage. He should be glad there is a barrier between him and the intimidating Right Hand, yet his vindictive glare burrows into her as he proclaims, “you walk a dangerous line, seeker!”   
Cassandra’s armored black boots clack against the unforgiving stone as she circles around the table and stands a foot from him, her voice full of resolve she scowls, “the breach is stable but it is still a threat, I will not ignore it.”  
I throw my hands up in defense, “I did everything I could to close the breach, it almost killed me,” the sliver of green light on my left palm dims then ignites in a small flair, then dims again.   
Roderick glares at my hand then at me as his condescending eyes narrow, “yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”   
Cassandra pulls her thin black eyebrows into a furrow and grits her teeth, “have a care chancellor, the breach is not the only threat we face.”  
Leliana silently steps toward Cassandra and looks at Roderick from under her hood. Her face is emotionless and her voice is warm like freshly washed cotton sheets in the sun, “someone was behind the explosion at the conclave, someone most holy did not expect,” she glances over at Cassandra, “perhaps they died with the others,” then her face darkens as she looks back at Roderick. Sweat forms on the back of my neck as she says quietly, “or have allies who yet live.”  
Roderick throws his hands out shouting, his chantry robes billowing with his chagrin, “I am a suspect?”  
“You, and many others,” Leliana replies curtly without raising her voice from her quiet tone.  
Roderick, visibly frustrated, whines, “but not the prisoner?!”  
Cassandra sighs heavily, “I heard the voices in the temple, the Divine called to him for help.”  
Roderick’s chantry hat shifts as his head shakes in disbelief, “So his survival, that thing on his hand, all a coincidence?”  
“Providence” Cassandra declares, then her eyes become soft as they meet mine, “the Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”  
Baffled I ask, “you really think your Maker would send someone like me?”  
“The Maker does as He wills, it is not for me to say,” she responds gently.  
“Even if that means a qunari is his chosen?” I inquire as I sarcastically wave my hand to draw attention to my horns.  
“Humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world,” she replies. She turns from the table and walks to the back of the room, the candlelight gleaming off her armor as she moves.  
Leliana shifts her icy gaze to me, her eyes are like light blue glass reflecting latent storms, the sweat on the back of my neck grows cold, but her words are calm, “the breach remains and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”  
Roderick unfolds his crossed arms crying, “this is not for you to decide!”  
Cassandra returns with a thick leather bound book. She slams it on the table, small bellows of dust in its wake. The symbol on the book similar to the symbol over her armor, a white eye with a white sun pattern around it. She points to it and asks directly, “you know what this is chancellor? A writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act.” She shifts her weight and squares herself, her angular dark face stern with resolve, “as of this moment I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She takes a step forward and points in rhythm with her words at Roderick, “we will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”  
Roderick nods silently in protest, his mouth gaping in awed disgust, then reluctant to argue further he stomps out the door. I stand just a foot from Cassandra as she shakes her head and runs her hand across her short black hair in a nervous gesture.  
Leliana caresses the book “this is the Divine’s directive; rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who would stand against the chaos.” The candlelight dances across her porcelain face, “we aren’t ready, we have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”  
Cassandra reassures her “but we have no choice, we must act now,” she turns her eyes to me warmly, “with you at our side.”  
For a moment I'm frozen, I don’t even believe in the Maker, but Leliana’s words ring in my head, pulling me: “those who would stand against the chaos...”   
“If you are truly trying to restore order,” I venture, my head still cloudy from the unexpected situation I find myself in.   
“That is the plan,” Leliana answers with a smirk, the first from her I’ve seen, she is much prettier, gentle even, when she smiles. As a strand of light red hair falls from her hood on her cheek it is hard not to linger on her small freckles.   
“Help us fix this before it is too late,” Cassandra offers her hand to me diverting my eyes from Leliana. Even enclosed in her gauntlet her hand is small compared to mine. I don’t hesitate and grasp it softly. She smiles up at me as we shake.  
“Whatever it takes,” I nod. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I journey up the dirt path, padded down by countless faithful feet, to the Chantry intending to find the Seeker. A scout delivered a message this morning that she wished me to attend an advisor counsel. The last few days in Haven haven't seen much change in the weather. Solas and Varric have remained as well. Solas is ever mystical, any prod at humor during conversation with him has ended in long winded one sided discussions about various aspects of the fade. I understand only a portion of it and I'm convinced most of it he narrates more to himself than me. Varric on the other hand lends a welcome cheerful disposition and I've found myself standing at the main fire with him listening to exaggerated stories. We've exchanged a few tips in regards to archery as well, although he discloses little about his unique crossbow. I've heard nothing from the Valos, I push the thought they are lost from my mind by keeping busy helping the requisition officer Threnn gather supplies for weapons. I’ve also constructed a new bow with the help of Harri. I'm not much use around a forge but he is a patient man of few words and we get along just fine. Whispers of me being Andraste’s Herald follow me, fear and reverence in the eyes of those in passing make me uneasy. I've tried to find the elf servant I startled when I awoke after the breach, despite my efforts to talk with her the last few days she’s remained timid and scarce.   
I push through the rustic wooden Chantry door and in my haste nearly collide with Cassandra lingering in the entryway. “Sorry!” I apologize as she steps out of my way, “you sent for me?”  
“Yes, please,” she indicates with a hand for me to walk with her. We stroll down the candlelit hallway toward the back room where she had declared the Inquisition just days before. Our footsteps on the rock laid floor echo in the hall as I glance at my hand. It was starting to feel normal but now suddenly it tingles again, like waking from sleep. “Does it trouble you?” her expression is reserved as usual but there are small lines of concern as she scans my glowing hand. My silence causes her deep brown eyes to navigate up my arm until they rest heavy on mine. I find myself again delving deeper into the small specs of lighter brown that only appear in certain light, like each one is a secret. Despite her brash disposition there are hidden parts of her safely locked inside, and in our short time together I’ve been drawn in by them.  
“It’s stopped spreading and it doesn’t hurt,” I respond as we linger just before the backroom door.  
“We take our victories where we can,” she starts to smile but then the corners of her mouth tighten as her thoughts shift, “what’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the breach.” The candles from the floor highlight her angular features and the shadow of the crescent scar on her cheek deepens. Were she not so brutal she could be considered delicate, but even in her coarse nature she is truculently beautiful. “You’ve given us time,” she continues despite my attraction, encouraging me to walk toward the back room, she raises her right eyebrow slightly as she enunciates certain words with her thick Nevarran accent, “and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed- provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”   
“I’ve never been very comfortable with magic, it’s not that I think it is evil. I’ve been on jobs where mages have torn their enemies into scraps. Given, most killing is brutal, but somehow when magic is involved it's….unsettling,” I admit as I recall a particular job where we were hired to take back a caravan of stolen goods. Our employer failed to mention they were stolen by a mage. The apostate used blood magic to control one of our men and he was forced to kill his brother, then himself. I still remember the way he screamed when he fell on his sword. Our second in command was able to throw a spear into the apostate’s chest before we lost anyone else. For our employer the job was a success. We split their shares, I used mine to buy an extra round for our crew at the pub, anything to help us ease the memory, but it only temporarily numbed it. It wasn’t the first or the last time we would lose someone, it came with this life. What was important was not wasting your time on regrets, and honoring your comrades’ memory by being as alive as you could. I remember that night Slater got so drunk he hung his pants from his horns and we had to leave the bar because he was dancing on the tables, which buckled under his weight. We later found him with the barkeeper's wife and two barmaids buried in hay in the stable. We didn’t work in that hamlet again. I smile down at her, the amusement of the memory still lingering. “But what harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?” I counter sarcastically.  
She grins as she shakes her head gently, her short black hair dancing on her forehead with the motion, “hold on to that sense of humor.” She turns the handle and the wooden door creaks as she pushes it open.   
The room smells of aged dirt and rusted metal. The large table in the center still holds the writ of the Divine but is now surrounded by two faces I don’t recognize and Leliana in her usual light chainmail and lavender hood.  
“May I present commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra introduces a blonde man in worn armor, over it is a heavy red vest with red and black feathery fur along its seam circling his neck. His eyes are light brown, like changing leaves in autumn, and deep set. A long scar cuts through his lip off to the right of his face, for a brief moment I entertain that he was born with it, then realize it’s not something we share as it veers off before reaching his nose. His serious expression deepens the tired lines of his face.  
His eyes drift down to the table “such as they are, we lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”   
Cassandra turns to a woman in brilliant golden silks and blues of brocade, she has a creamy dark complexion and thick raven hair pulled back loosely on the back of her head. She would be soft to touch, like a silk pillow. The only visible skin is her hands under ruffled sleeves and her face. She holds a thin board of parchment with a candle melted into the top and a hole drilled to hold a small blue inkwell. “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”  
Josephine tilts her head and a strand of hair falls from her ear settling on her cheek, she raises an interested eyebrow as I politely make eye contact at the introduction, “you’re..” she scratches the feather pen in her hand with her thumb, “even taller than I’d heard,” her voice is full and carries a rich Antivan accent. She shifts her head to look at her parchment but her eyes flash back to me as Cassandra raises her arm toward Leliana.  
The Seeker motions in a lazy flick of her hand, “and of course you know sister Leliana.”  
Leliana speaks in her soft voice, “my position here involves a degree of-“   
She is abruptly cut off as Cassandra plainly states, “she is our spymaster.”  
Leliana exerts a soft sigh and places her hands behind her back, “yes, tactfully put Cassandra.”   
“Pleased to meet you all,” I respond sincerely, my eyes taking in all their faces, “Cassandra implied you have a plan, I'll help however I can.”   
Cassandra rests her hand on the table and looks back at me, “I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the breach for good.”  
“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana quickly adds.  
Commander Cullen interjects, “and I still disagree,” his hands are folded on the hilt of his long sword at his belt. His feathery fur brushes the side of his cheek as he turns his head to face Cassandra and Leliana. “The Templars could serve just as well.” There are subtle lines etched around his eyes reminiscent of a troubled past.  
Cassandra sighs and her head drops but her eye contact remains with Cullen, “we need power, commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-“  
His right hand leaves his hilt perch as he indicates, “might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so-“  
Leliana shifts her weight to her other foot and says firmly, “pure speculation.”  
Cullen’s voice tightens, “I was a Templar,” then softens as he places his hand back on his hilt convinced with his protest, “I know what they’re capable of.”  
Josephine speaks up from her parchment, “unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” her eyebrows raise then lower as she declares, “the Chantry has denounced the Inquisition-and you specifically,” she turns and points her feather pen in my direction.   
Word has been traveling that I’m the Herald of Andraste, and the conclave claimed the Divine, if Roderick is any indication it’s probably in an uproar, I can see how we could be seen as an upstart threat. Not surprised I reply flatly, “well that didn’t take long.”  
Cullen’s eyebrows pull together, “shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become the next divine?”  
Josephine’s gaze never left me. Her eyes are so deeply brown they are almost black. She looks at me intrigued, like I am a rare intricate painting she wishes to learn every line of. Realizing her attention I’m nervous. Qunari are seen as exotic, usually with Orlesian nobles, members of the Valos would get approached from time to time for specific exploits, but I never drew interest, especially when compared to the rest of my band. The novelty of the sensation isn’t altogether unwelcome.   
“Some are calling you…a qunari…the “Herald of Andraste,” that frightens the Chantry,” she turns her head to glance at the others around the table, “the remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy,” she flicks her feather pen at each of them, “and we heretics for harboring you.”  
Cassandra sighs, “Chancellor Roderick’s doing no doubt.”  
Josephine rests her feather pen on the parchment as if to write but no letters come forth, “it limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”  
“Could the chantry attack us?” I ask the lady Ambassador.   
Cullen scoffs, “with what?” his head tilts in annoyance, “the Templars have left, they have only words at their disposal.”  
“And yet,” Josephine shifts gracefully from her hip and waves her pen, “they may bury us with them.”  
Leliana peers at me from under her delicate red bangs, “there is something you can do,” her lulling way of speaking already has me wanting to do it, “a chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”  
“I’ll see what she has to say,” I reply, it’s somewhere to start though I wonder why she asked for me.   
“You will find mother Giselle tending the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliff,” she instructs.  
Cullen’s expression softens, “look for other opportunities to expand the inquisition’s influence while you are there.”  
Josephine nods in agreement, “we need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them,” her idle feather shakes as she rapidly writes.  
Cassandra waves her hand, “in the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”  
As we move to leave Leliana touches Cassandra’s hand to get her attention, “Inquisition forces have already begun scouting the area around the crossroads, Scout Harding is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”  
I just hope this Mother Giselle can help.


	2. A Land Torn by War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our friend's go into the Hinterlands to find it racked with the Mage-Templar war.

**Chapter 2: A Land Torn by War**

 

_ “And the houses laid out like targets with the deafening sound _

_ We watched them all go down and the families now useless bodies _

_ They lay still black and blue, a gift from us to you _

_ Believe, You want this. Believe, I want this too _

_ Why won't you tell me that It's almost over _

_ Why must this tear my head Inside out” _

_ -Angels and Airwaves _

 

The Breach still hangs in the distance, like a far off tornado waiting to hit ground, but the black clouds eventually fade into blue cloudless skies. The trees seem unaffected, their radiant green leaves dancing from their lithe branches. It’s refreshing to see that the Mage-Templar fighting hasn’t stained everything in the area. The hole in the sky is less looming here as butterflies flit at flowers and the leaves wave gently in the wind. Strands of unruly tall, soft grass tickle my fingers as we continue our course.  For a few precious moments I lose the doom in the warm breeze and light straining through the trees. 

We wind our way down the canyon avoiding brushing against the clay and crumbling dirt walls around us.  The path is narrow and uneven as we descend toward the crossroads.  Signs of battle trickle in.  A young man in robes, his dark hair thick with blood that leaks thick down his forehead and onto his chest is propped against the rocks; a broadsword through his ribcage. More robed bodies scatter the ground yards from him, their faces charred beyond recognition. Ten feet further down we enter a clearing where a mage is encircled in ice with shards protruding around her like a crystallized flower in bloom. Templars are frozen and distorted in the icy petals. She must have sacrificed herself to stop them. A scout in the familiar Inquisition green hood crouches behind a crate. A fireball flies past his head and dissipates into the dirt just feet behind him.  

“Inquisition forces!” shouts Cassandra as she quickens her pace, sword and shield already drawn, “they are trying to protect the refugees!!”

“Looks like they could use a hand,” Varric bellows as he sprints to take position behind another crate to our left.

Solas falls in behind the scout and throws his hands out towards Varric and Cassandra.  Their outlines glow faintly blue with his barrier. I run four strides and take point behind the crate with the startled scout. His face relaxes into hope as I nod at him. I draw an arrow, Solas has already hurled a spike of ice into the chest of a Templar.  He screams and hits the ground, three more are right behind him, their swords clashing with Inquisition soldiers. Another Templar bears his sword down through a soldier’s head bringing him to his knees, then kicks him in the face to free his blade.

“Hold! We are not apostates!” Cassandra commands.  Her seeker armor is unmistakable but the Templars take no notice.

Varric replies through staggered breaths, “I do not think they care Seeker,” as he loads another bolt in his crossbow.

Cassandra thrusts her sword through the eye slot of a Templar as he turns to face her, his great sword drops as he falls backwards toward the dirt. She has freed her sword before he hits the ground, ready for the next attack.

I pick a Templar closing in on a soldier in the distance as my target.  He raises his bloodied sword above his head, red drops trickle down his gauntlet and onto his helmet as I aim my arrow at his armpit and release. He drops his sword and the Inquisition soldier kicks his chest then thrusts a dagger into his neck repeatedly. 

Solas turns to Cassandra and shouts an incantation, she glows blue just as a Templar closes in on her from behind, his sword glances off her shield as she turns and bashes it up under his chin, simultaneously sinking her sword into his exposed side. She shouts, “Maker take you” as the sword penetrates his ribcage, blood runs down the hilt onto the ground.  My companions look to me as I point down the road. Through burning crates and tipped over carriages several robed figures appear from the north hill. We run to intercept them as the inquisition soldiers at the end of the road clump together for defense.  They are outnumbered we must make it in time.  

As our soldiers charge toward the apostates Solas shouts to them pleading, “we are not Templars! We mean you no harm!”  

A fireball hits the ground 20 feet from us and explodes, rocks and debris flying in all directions. Cassandra raises her shield to protect her eyes and Varric coughs in the dirt haze. 

           “Doesn’t look like they are listening,” Varric replies sarcastically as he pulls the trigger of his crossbow, the apostate falls to the ground in a crumpled mess of silver trimmed green robes, a bolt in his chest.

Cassandra charges ahead and joins the soldiers.  I climb a rocky ledge about 5 feet up and pull back Ash’Eva. My arrow plummets into an apostate’s arm causing her to drop her staff, lightning erupts from her other hand hitting another apostate as Solas throws an ice bolt into the back of her head.  I silently thank Harrit for helping me with my new bow and pull another arrow. Below me Cassandra beheads another, the mage’s blond hair swirls as it falls eyes void onto the dirt.  Fire burns in small patches around us, but the threat is gone.  I slide down my rock and regroup with the others.  I look over my companion for signs of injury, Cassandra is stained in blood and Varric is counting his bolts, niether show indication of wounds.

Solas peering in the distance raises his staff to the left, “Be ready! More coming our way!”

Another force of Templars descends from the hills, screaming with blades drawn as they advance.  Two archers take knees behind crates.  I pin my arrow on the one on the left and circle out to get a better view of him. My arrow easily finds his chest and he slinks down on the crate.  Cassandra screams at the Templar in the front of the charge, he looks her way as she bashes into him at full sprint with her shield.  They are locked in a solid stance as he pushes back, her heels scraping the earth from his advance as clouds of brown haze billow around them. She crouches lower than him so he is nearly on top of her when she stretches her legs and throws him off balance.  In his shifting movement Varric sends an arrow into his back, it pierces his armor but he takes no notice as blood drains down from the wound. Cassandra swings her sword into his side and his armor buckles under the blow, I let an arrow fly, aiming for the opening where she crushed it.  I felt it was going to miss once my fingers left the string, I already have another arrow at the ready. I hold my breath and let the string glide off my fingers; it flies right into the crack.  The Templar falters and Cassandra abruptly brings her blade down on his head. with a loud crack the metal buckles and dents into his skull.  The body is still. She turns to face the last opponent, one final archer behind a fragile wooden crate. She growls and her sword hits her shield, a beckoning taunt to challenge him. His arrow flies but she deflects it off the top of her shield, with a metallic scrape it glances off into the dirt. Before his hand reaches for the next arrow from his quiver the gears of Varric’s crossbow grind just yards behind me.  The final archer crumples in the dirt, a bolt in his forehead.  It’s over.

The refugees slowly emerge from their shelters as inquisition soldiers gather the injured and take them up a small stone stairway to a makeshift infirmary.  Mother Giselle must be near.  i navigate through the wounded to find the chantry mother.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“It’s good of you to do this.” I’ve met so few of the chantry that look past their prejudice.  Maybe I need to try and look past mine more often.  

Mother Giselle’s deep eye’s search me then she bows her head, “I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope.” She shifts her gaze to the wounded refugees. “Hope is what we need now.” She turns back to face me as her voice takes on an encouraging charismatic tone, “The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the inquisition into a force that will deliver us….or destroy us.”

After our discussion being Andraste’s Herald, willingly or not, is a heavier weight than before.  Regardless of my stance, the Inquisition needs me to close rifts, but so does Thedas.  I already knew this was bigger than me, but it’s finally starting to sink in. I feel the pull of panic grasping at the back of my throat, “The Chantry will never listen to the appeal of a qunari.” 

Her warm eyes don’t waver, “you must try. I will go to Haven and provide sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering, it’s not much but I will do whatever I can,” she gives me a small reassuring grin and turns to walk back to the infirmary. 

I’m left standing alone on the stone ledge.  I won’t let the panic grow, I pull my marked hand into a fist and let my fingernails dig into my palm; the sting helps pulls my focus. I look down as Cassandra waves me over. I can’t let her see my panic. Suddenly my left hand feels heavier.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Small cottages burn in the wake of the Mage-Templar fighting as we make our way through the small hamlet below Fort Conner toward Dennet’s Farms. It was once a formidable fortress but is now settling into rubble and reclaimed by tentacles of green.  

“Impressive even for a ruin,” Solas remarks, “I wonder what kind of dreams it holds.”

Varric smiles, no doubt imagining some kind of fairy tale past for it, and Cassandra ignores the topic altogether, her eyes peering forward focused on our quest, I follow her line of sight and I see them too.  Two Templar archers stationed at what would have been the front door if it hadn’t deteriorated from neglect and time.  I draw my bow and nod my head for them to follow me as I creep against the outside wall.  I wrap my torso around the edge of the moss covered stone and let my string go.  I hit the far one in the face, blood sputters as he gurgles to the ground.  The other archer retreats into the entrance.  Cassandra shouts and runs in after him.  She’s impressively fast even in all her steel armor.  I pass through the archway behind her, the room has a faint red glow despite the lack of candles.  The interior is rubble just like the outside, and carries a distinctive stale musty smell.  In the end of what was once a great hall a Templar knight stands next to an enormous smooth luminous red crystal. Red lyrium.  I pull my string back, the arrow flies into the second archer before he reaches his commander.  Cassandra has already made it to the Templar knight before I can pull back another arrow. The sound of their swords colliding echoes loudly filling the dank room.  Varric sends a bolt into another soldier felling him to the ground and my new target trips over the body with a disoriented clatter as he falls on the stone floor.  Before I can release my arrow he screams as a thick shard of ice strikes his chest, leaving a bloody gap through him.  The frozen shard hits the ground behind him shattering into red rubble.  Cassandra slices through the arms of the knight then quickly swings her sword over in a circular movement, with her concise blow to his neck the helmeted head spins onto the ground with a loud clack as steel meets rock. 

“Maker take you.” She expels as she sheathes her blade.  

Varric turns his crossbow at the red lyrium and with three shots dispels it to dust.

The room holds little interest but for a chest with an old staff in it next to a table with waning lit candles.  A piece of paper sits crumpled on the rough wood. The letters are written in a stout crisp hand:

 

_ “brothers, we must listen to the call of the maker himself, who has given us the duty to destroy these mages. By their rebellion, they have forfeited their right to live. They are not people, and any order that asks us to end this just and righteous battle is a lie. A test sent by him to separate the faithful from the foolish. Join us off the west road and fight for a worthy cause.” _

 

“We should deal with this,” Cassandra scowls, her dark face still flush from battle. I nod and push the parchment into my pouch. 

In the distance the old bridge across the rushing waves of the river has been broken through.  As we near it becomes evident the water is low and won’t be difficult to cross.  To the left of the bridge snakes an upward dirt path, crates stacked along the road; the Templar encampment.  Our sudden presence attracts two Templars at the entrance both with massive shields, one of them yells, “KILL THEM ALL!” and begins his charge.  Cassandra sprints in front of me her shield ready, despite the fact I am twice her size her instinct to protect takes over.  I ready my bow and wait for my opening.   Solas’ barrier encircles us, the faint blue glow tingling my skin.  The Templar rams Cassandra forcing her back toward me, her heels dig in the dirt as she pushes back, I side step and aim my arrow into his side. At this close distance the arrow carves right into his armor sinking a foot into his ribs. The second Templar charges from the other side taking Cassandra off guard. I wrap my arm around her, catching her middle preventing her fall. I bring her into me that we may circle away from him as he turns for his second charge.  Her armor digs in my stomach as she catches her balance and brings her sword down on his head as he passes, his neck cracking under her hilt.  She flashes me a fierce look of disdain and I realize I still have my arm around her waist. Embarrassed I let go. Even with my arrow wound sputtering blood the remaining Templar screams and readies his sword.  Before I can draw my string he is consumed by frost, engulfed in Solas’ spell. Cassandra wastes no time charging him, she thrusts her sword into his chest then pulls the blade out as he shatters like glass.  

It’s only a short distance up to the rest of the encampment, archers guard the second entry way and Varric and I take them down before they can noc their arrows.  We wind our way through hallways formed by crates and wooden stakes, it takes us no time to take out the five unsuspecting soldiers around the main fire.  In the heart of the camp a large Templar in knight commander armor stands with his sword ready.  He lets out a brutal shout and Cassandra is already running to charge him.  Solas chants quietly in Elvehn and the grass around the Templar turns white like a morning frost, it spreads to his boots and his armor starts to glisten.  The soldier struggles in vain to free his feet and in his distraction Cassandra jams her shield into his throat jostling him free from the frost.  With a scream he flies backwards off the gorge, the sound of his armor hitting the rocks below makes me cringe.  We are a good 40 feet up from the river.  I look over the edge to see the Templar, his clothes and arms waving with the water, snowflakes settling and melting as they land. 

“The refuges should be safer now,” sighs Varric as we step away from the edge.

“We still have the rebel apostates to deal with,” Solas adds reluctantly. 

“We should reach the farm soon,” notes Cassandra as she sheaths her sword, her frustration evident in her steps as she walks back toward the bridge.


	3. The River Runs Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While meeting the requests of the Horse master our crew encounters an unruly fade rift.

**Chapter 3: The River Runs Cold**

 

“ _ Your warm whispers _ __   
_ Out of the dark they carry my heart _ __   
_ Your warm whispers _ __   
_ Into the dawn they carry me through _ __   
_ And I am weeping warm honey and milk _ _   
_ __ That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me”

_ -Missy Higgins _ __   
  


 

Beyond the last farmhouse the plains go for several acres of rolling green grass. The mountains are misty on the horizon.

“A beautiful place to have seen so much sadness,” Solas notes solemnly as we pass the last fencepost. 

No sooner does he finish his last word my hand goes on fire.  I squeeze my palm as green light trespasses from my fingers. A rift is nearby, driven by the pull of the mark I look to the left and see the sliver of green in the sky, five ghostly iridescent green figures wandering around it.  I turn my head to Varric and point to the demon on the far left, then look to Solas and point to the demon on the right, I don’t even need to make eye contact with Cassandra she is already making her way to the middle of the wraiths.  I pick the one in the middle and silently draw an arrow.  I let it fly, it hits the green orb in the center of its chest and it dissipates into the air.  Varric has sent a bolt into the head of his, and Solas’s shard of ice is already shattered in the ground behind his dissolving target.  Cassandra shouts as she runs toward the remaining wraiths, they both shake their hands in her direction and she slows her pace. Despite their effort, her powerful sword slashes diagonally through the one to her right.  I send an arrow through the one to her left before it can reach her. “DEAD” she shouts as the wraiths disappear.  The rift buckles and growls as streams of green lightning strike the ground in a circle of 4 bolts around it.  The dirt rips open and dissolves as a stick like demon with a dislocated jaw and narrow claw hands screeches as it digs its way up.  More wraiths spill from the green glow.  Varric takes out two with one bolt.  The terror is only a foot from me and without time to pull my dagger I push at it with my hands and bow, its skin is rough and moist like aged bark after the rain. My hand presses right into it, like it would pass into rotten wood. It screeches louder, its hollow eyes and twisted mouth in agony.  Cassandra rushes to my side, her blade narrowly scraping my leather jacket as the tip of her sword pierces its hollow face.  It howls and falls writhing to the ground.  I throw my hand up to the light, it tingles and cramps as the bolts connect with my palm and the sky sews up into the air.  The rift is closed.  I dust off my chest where pieces of the demon shrapnel hit.  Cassandra’s blade makes a metallic slithering sound as she slides it back into its hilt, ending with a click.

“This place would be much more pleasant without all these demons,” muses Varric, “I would get a vacation home here,” his finger points to the ruffled dirt that moments ago spewed demons.

“I wonder how many tears there are,” I reply opening and closing my fingers, there is only a faint green glow from my hand now but I still feel a hint of the energy, more rifts are in the distance but I'm not close enough to sense them.

“We will deal with them,” Cassandra turns to look to the north, “The first tower location is just ahead.”  

             The dirt path takes a steep rise above the canyon then opens to a small flat land against the mountain. “You can see the entirety of the farm from here,” I breathe as we reach the top. The landscape is beautiful in the setting sun.  In the distance white water rushes down the side of the mountain, in my awe I state the obvious, “a waterfall.”  I retrieve my my map from my pouch and confirm we are at Bron’s mark, “only two left, and of course the rabid wolves.”

We zig zag along the rocky ledge back to the dirt path, the farmhouses disappear under the cover of the trees as they form a leafy wall beside us.  The path opens back into the valley and we find ourselves near a small pond, probably crop runoff water collection, where just beyond the valley slants into a small drop to the river. The sky is orange and the breeze chills my cheeks with the onset of night.

“We could make camp here?” Solas asks although his eyes focus instead down to the river.  The sun will set soon, the horizon is already starting to deepen into hazy blues. “It would be imprudent to track the wolves further in the dark.”

“I agree, besides I’m so hungry I could eat a druffalo,” I expel as I set my quiver down against a massive rock. Satisfied with my claimed spot I slide into a cross legged sit against the rocky edge. The edges dig in my back but my body is so tired finally sitting feels too good to move.  The ground is cold under my fingers as I move my hands slowly across the grass letting it tickle my palms. The mark still feels strange to me, as if it's still hungry after devouring that last rift. 

“It would be wise for us to rest and eat something,” Cassandra adds as she stabs her sword into the dirt then sets her shield against it, the metal eye staring into me. “I will talk to Dennet, see if he can send a scout with a message to corporal Vale at the crossroads,” she turns and walks back toward the horse master’s house.  

Varric sets his crossbow down next to my quiver and props his back up to my rock.  Both of us sitting our size difference isn’t as stark but his blonde head still only comes to my pecs.  “Bianca could use a sleep after all those glowing wraiths she shishka bobbed,” he says his voice trailing off.  With the setting fatigue his use of humor to diffuse the moment is starting to lose its resolve.  He seems to have an endless supply of wit and stamina, it does after all, take him nearly two steps to Cassandra’s one, so in a way he has traveled twice the distance than the rest of us.   

Solas shakes his head, “surely we've done enough to draw the attention of the clerics, shouldn’t we travel to Val Royeaux?” His eyes are droopier than usual. I wonder when the last time he slept. His tunic is stained in the back and under his arms from sweat from our journey, “once we have rested?”  

“We will Solas,” I assure him as I close my eyes and tilt my face up to catch the last rays of sun the day has to offer, “if we can get mounts the trip will go faster.” Sleep calls me and I don’t think I can argue with him right now.

“I agree, but surely the horse master can give us a few, shouldn’t Corporal Vale worry about the towers and wolves from here?” He isn’t alone in his impatience, I suspect Cassandra feels similar but she didn't protest when I consented to help the refugees. When Solas thinks of the inquisition helping people I doubt he realizes that right now out here we are the inquisition.  The more I ponder it as my breath deepens into sleep the more I entertain the idea that maybe when he stares off out into the horizon as he does he sees things in the fade that paint an even bigger picture beyond what the rest of us see. 

 

_ Solas, stretches from the breech his arm reaching for my wrist, he pulls me in and I'm floating in the dark with the eyes of the wolves circling around me. I reach for my bow but my quiver is empty, then the darkness turns to water. Stokakar stands on a small boat, his horns reflecting moonlight, and whispers “you are not the herald” then throws a golden javelin toward me but before it hits my chest Cassandra pushes me away and it hits her in the back, guilt overwhelms me as I look helplessly into her blank face and feel the warmth of her blood. I scream but no sound comes out. _

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


I wake up to the sound of hammering. It takes only a moment for me to focus enough to realize I was dreaming. The sky is painted in deep blues and grays that I barely make out the outline of Cassandra’s shield facing me, still tilted against her sword in the ground.  There’s movement around me, a handful of inquisition soldiers laying out wooden poles and stretching out ivory canvas.  As the shapes become clearer a fire is started in the middle, the flames crawl out of the wood and the orange haze warms over the site. While I slept a camp has been established.  

Beside my rock just four feet from me Cassandra lays on her back wrapped loosely in a thin brown blanket.  This is the first time I've seen her without her armor, it lays washed and lined up neatly on the other side of her.  She wears a worn simple black tunic comfortably laced at the neck with an untied thin black cord. Deep in sleep her face is relaxed from its usual stern scowl. After a few moments of watching her chest rise and fall with the breaths of sleep I move to pull her blanket tighter around her, but hesitate as I remember I am surrounded by people. 

“In this state it’s like the Seeker is just a woman,” Varric’s voice is behind me, “hard to believe she can smash your face in without second thought.” He is holding a bowl of soup, it doesn’t look very appetizing but my stomach awakens at the sight of food.  “Dennet sent a bird to the crossroads and less than an hour ago they arrived ready to make a camp here to help protect the farmlands.” He takes a drink of his soup, “Chuckles said something about demons and wolves and took off on his own North.” 

My stomach grumbles obnoxiously, “is that edible?” I ask with a weak grin.

“Well it’ll put hair on your chest,” Varric jokes back, “they’ve got this stuff brewing over by the fire, better get some before the seeker wakes up, I bet she can shovel it down.” Varric’s face is refreshed with sleep and his wit has returned.

I stand up and stretch my arms, my feet and legs are still sore and my back aches where the edges of the rock dug in.  I don’t usually fall asleep sitting up and my back and neck don’t mind reminding me. At the fire an inquisition soldier is stirring a thick brown frothy liquid in a flame blackened pot.  “Herald” she says, her voice uneven like I caught her by surprise even though I’ve only traveled ten feet, “sir here, it’s not much for taste but it’s warm.” She spoons up some of the liquid into a bowl.  Being a mercenary I’ve eaten much worse than this and drink it down easily in three large gulps then stretch my arm back in her direction. Without words she dishes me a second helping. I’m afraid to ask what’s in it and I’m too hungry to care.

“Thank you, um miss?” 

She nods and smiles, “Janice, my lord.” I offer my empty bowl for another helping.

The sky's dark blues are invaded by orange and yellow as the sun peeks over the tree splattered horizon. As I’m taking in the beauty of the dawning morning a figure appears from around the edge up from the valley.  It’s Solas, the metal of his staff reflecting the light of the awakened sun as he walks.  His pace quickens when he sees me.

“I think I have found the layer of our wolves,” he says his eyes serious and voice stoic, “in my sleep the fade pulled me and I felt it up that ridge. I have scouted the river line.  A rift lays north east of us and I believe a spirit calls the wolves beyond that.”

“Good morning Solas,” I smile but he doesn’t smile back, “alright, we can start there, but I won’t be the one to wake Cassandra, I’ve already been her prisoner once.” 

        Solas without fear walks over to where she lays.  With a gentle voice he calls, “seeker,” and taps her shoulder lightly, it has no effect.  A little louder he continues his efforts, “Cassandra?” and with another less gentle push to her shoulder she opens her eyes and grabs for her pillow, just as I see the blade of a dagger she realizes it is Solas and drops it. She props herself up on her hands and sits up. 

“Solas?” she replies, as though they were already having a conversation.

“I believe I have found the wolves, let’s make haste,” he says as he stands up. She nods and reaches for her armor.  Within minutes she is suited up and pulling her sword from the dirt. 

“And here I thought we would all sit down for morning tea,” Varric amuses as he reaches for his coat and crossbow.  

“Eat a little of this at least,” I offer my bowl to her.

She looks at it with interest, “what is it?” 

“Nug feet stew with fresh morning dew,” I smile wide, humored by my own joke.  She doesn’t seem amused but takes the bowl and downs it nonetheless. 

I nod in thanks to Janice as we leave the camp, heading north toward the river.  Cassandra favors her left leg when she walks, I noticed it before but it’s more defined this morning with the stiffness of sleep.  She notices me watching her, “what is it?” she asks irritated.

“Did you get hurt when we fought that terror last night?” I ask gently..

“I am fine,” she replies annoyed, quickening her pace to put distance between us.

As we turn the corner into the canyon my hand tingles. The rift Solas predicted. to our right there is a drop in the land where the river makes a small waterfall. The rift’s green light dances off the rushing white waves.  I stiffen and the group halts beside me.  Cassandra rolls her sword arm around a few times to stretch it then runs down the bank as the sky rips and demons spew forward.  A gnarled tree terror stands knee deep in water as I pen my arrow into its eye socket.  It screeches and lumbers toward me.  Varric sprints higher up the ledge, falling to the water from that distance would surely mean death.  Cassandra bellows out a deep seeded vocal shout, and the terror turns to face her.  I send an arrow into the back of its head, it flinches away and into Cassandra’s shield pressing her into the water.  Solas strikes it in the back with a shard of ice that lodges under its shoulder and through its ribcage, black blood falls onto Cassandra’s face as she growls and braces against the beast.  I circle around to get a better angle when I hear a high pitched scream behind me.  I turn to face a black raggedy clothed demon with graying skin stretched over bones, faceless under its dark hood just feet away from me.  Its gnarled fingers and toes stretch outward as it screeches again projecting a beam of frosted blue from its hands.  I don’t have time to react, cold swarms my legs, the grass frostbitten in trails holding me between this monster and the river.  My feet numb and locked to the ground, I take my dagger and furiously chip it away.  The creature screeches and twirls its rags around it, taunting me then it flies in a black billowy mass toward Cassandra.  I’ve freed one foot by the time it’s blue beam bursts toward her, in helpless horror I watch as the water freezes around her; capturing her in ice from the waist down. She screams and hits at her frozen prison with her sword to no avail. 

“CASSANDRA!” I shout, still hopeless to escape my entrapment.   

Varric yells out, “I could use some backup here,” as another cloaked demon screeches behind him. He dodges its ice but is still hit with fragments as the creature’s attack freezes the water behind him. It rains short sharp icicles down the rocks.

I twist and attempt to take a shot at the dark figure, but my arrow hits in the shoulder, I was aiming for its chest.  It screeches again and sends a beam of frost toward Varric, forcing him to roll down the ledge into the water to avoid it.  

Solas shouts, “we must retreat!” As his barrier fails to circle the trapped Seeker.

He’s right, we are overrun and we will die here if we don’t run.  Varric now finding his footing in the water stands chest deep in confused waves as he throws a handful of small mines in the air. They snap and crackle with fire and the dark cloaked despair demon takes the bait and heads toward him.  With the demon distracted he clambers to the rocks as it closes in. 

“Varric” I shout and jerk my leg to free it from the icy ground, the ice shatters and I leap toward the cliff.  “Solas!” I yell over my shoulder, “Cassandra” but he is already nearing her, she has passed out from the cold, frozen as she is the grotesque terror demon is clumsily scratching at her chest and face.  Solas closes his eyes tight and the demon and the water surrounding it push away in an invisible sphere around him.  He places his hands on the ice around her middle and they glow a light orange as the ice melts.  He pulls her limp body through the water and drags her onto the bank towards camp.  Atop the ledge I lay on my stomach and thrust my arms down to grab Varric, he throws another mine into the face of the encroaching demon that emits smoke as he jumps landing his hands in mine.  The terror demon claws behind him missing his feet by inches as I pull him up. The cloaked despair demon flutters and screeches, blocking the passage to camp, our only option is to flee down the bank toward the caves.  I grab Cassandra from Solas, his brow thick with sweat trying to drag her.  Armored and wet she is heavy in my arms, and they ache from the cold. We don’t look back as Varric tosses another set of mines, smoke cloaking our escape. We sprint along the river until the screeches turn to anguished whispers behind us.  

“That rift cannot remain,” Solas cries, out of breath, while we take cover under a low ledge forming a small cave for us to take refuge in. 

“I know, but we would have died,” I gasp catching my breath. Cassandra groans quietly cradled in my arms, “we need to be ready next time,” I add and tighten my hold on her, “though I don’t know exactly how we could have prepared for that.”

“Looks like the seeker is coming to,” Varric adds.

“Put me down!” she demands her eyes wild on mine.  Her face flashes red, whether from anger or embarrassment I cannot tell. The demon left only small scratches on her face, but there is a bruise forming on her jaw. 

“The demons overtook us,” I explain as I lower my left arm into a slope allowing her to slide to her feet. 

“I figured that,” she snaps, but as she takes a step her legs give out and Varric steadies her, she’s too distracted from her weakened state to be irritated with him for it.  

“We need rest,” I say firmly to her disgruntled expression, my eyes turn to meet Solas’ “she’s so cold, we need to get her warm, but we can’t give away our position and draw the demons with a fire….” I don’t have to say it, he knows what I’m asking, I know he can do fire magic although he has never shown that talent before.

“I’m fine, we need to move on,” she says curtly, still braced against Varric.  His grin evidence of how much it pleases him that the powerful seeker so bent on detesting him is now reliant on him to stand.  

“Cassandra,” I say gently but my face is stern, stubborn as she is, she must realize the situation. Her knees buckle as I command, “you need to get warm, you’re soaked in ice and shivering... and wounded.”

Her eyes narrow, but she moves her hand to her side to unbuckle the leather straps of her metal chest plate.  

Solas looks to me with concern and his voice wavers, “Adaar, my control of fire, after the night spent in the fade, well there is a chance I will not have enough will to keep her warm, or I may lack control, and I may burn her.”

Cassandra groans as she struggles with the third buckle on her side. I lean over and place my hand on her hip taking her from Varric.  My other hand trembles as I fumble with the buckle. “I understand,” I respond without looking up at him, my eyes are focused on my clumsy hand pulling at the leather on Cassandra's waist.  

Varric removes his thick overcoat, still damp from his own traipse through the water and lays it out on the ground in the sun, “well chuckles, I know this isn’t how we wanted to become better friends,” and he sits down against the ledge patting the ground next to him. 

Solas rolls his eyes, “alright child of stone, but I don’t want another word until this is over.”

“I’ll be silent as the rock,” Varric retorts but his smile widens.  I can’t tell if he is excited at the prospect of cuddling or the fact that it makes Solas so uncomfortable.  I think it’s the latter.

By now I’ve managed my way through the remaining two straps of Cassandra’s metal chest piece, enabling me to grab it by the shoulder strap and lift it off her in a gentle swoop.  It falls to the ground with a small thud.  I guide her against the small rock by the overhang, her head drapes and her weight presses into my arm as she starts to lose consciousness. 

“Stay with me,” I demand gently as I work her black leather gambeson off her shoulders, it smells of sweat and river water, and is stiff to the touch from the cold, my fingers ache from the ice.  I lay it with her armor to dry in the sun, as I turn back my face flushes warm.  Her remaining garment is the simple black tunic from this morning, but now heavy with water it sticks to her frame hugging her shape closely. I turn my eyes to the dirt by her feet and reach down to pull off her boots. Kneeling in front of her perched against the rock we are face to face. I pull my quiver off and set it and my bow next to her against the rock, then tug at the strings holding the front of my leather armor. once lose I shrug it off and lay it on the ground.  My clothes aren’t very wet but Cassandra is soaked to the bone, I shiver as the wind picks up, dragging more of the cold from her in my direction with each wisp. She has come back to but her eyes are still cloudy, she looks so tired. She brings her hand up to her face and rubs her eyes. The tips of her black short hair are kissed in frost. I know she must notice, even in her drowsy state, as color spreads over my face. The corner of mouth twitches as my nervous fingers find the bottom of my cotton shirt.  It has a very wide V and I have no problem smoothly pulling it over my head and horns.  I’m stricken with modestly as her eyes drop to my chest, a paler shade of grey than my sun touched face and hands. Suddenly I feel an unexpected tinge of fear at being exposed before her.  Her eyes shift to the ground and she lets out a small grunt in protest as she begins to pull her own wet garment off.

“Cassandra,” my voice is a little hoarse as i stop her hand with mine; I cough to clear it. “I think you should wear this.” I can’t make eye contact with her and look instead at the ground as I hand her my shirt. “It’s dry.” 

“Turn around, all of you,” she says in sluggish drawn out words as my shirt leaves my hand. She places a hand on my arm to stabilize herself as she shifts to change.

Solas sits reluctantly side by side with Varric, his eyes are on the horizon again, no doubt thinking something off world.  Varric hums as he fumbles through his pack of mines and traps, they shift to either side of the bag as he silently counts out and separates each type. A hand taps my shoulder, the icy touch sends goosebumps across my body.  Cassandra stands before me, swimming in my soft white shirt, the light capturing her silhouette through the thin cloth.  I shrug my shoulders to shake my nerves and move to sit next to Varric, between me and Solas he should be fine I only need to take care that I don’t accidentally elbow him in the jaw.  Cassandra hesitates as the wind picks up and her bottom lip trembles with her shivers, I open my legs across the ground to make an enclosure for her with my body.  My shirt comes to her knees, she looks even smaller than when she was asleep before. Gripping the V of the neck shut with a clenched hand she nods and sits on the ground. In moments she scoots up backwards toward me, her body is so chilled I instinctively circle my arms around her and pull her flush against me. Her feet come to my mid calves, we sit rigid and awkward for a moment until her body warms from mine. Her back and shoulder muscles relax and I loosen my arms so she can curl her legs up and shift to lay against me on her side. I bend my knees to better shelter her. Her breath tickles the hair on my chest, its staggered with her shivers at first then evens out into gentle long draws as her body ceases to shake.  Her head weighs heavy on my chest just below my heart and her breath deepens with sleep.  I carefully run my fingers through her hair to help melt the remaining ice, within half a dozen swipes I’ve combed it dry and rest my hand on her neck to keep it warm.  My heart quickens at our closeness and I hope she is far enough into deep sleep to take notice. 

I turn my head to Varric and Solas, both in the beginning stages of sleep.  I fear sleeping myself, lest rift demons find us while we slumber.  Instead I trace the outline of the rocks on the wall on the other side of the river, though we are high enough not to see the rushing waves I can hear them.  A fennec fox prances by. I don’t know how much time has passed but Cassandra is warm and I dare not move. We are going to be fine. My head droops from fatigue and I close my eyes for just a moment to rest them and sleep overtakes me.

 

_ I'm holding a bowl of soup but as I drink it the liquid turns to solid ice. It grows around me engulfing me into a blue world of cold. Inside the ice Varric is frozen, a grin on his face and Solas stands above us, floating, “the rift is near” his voice echoes. When I look at my hand the mark flares green and the ragged black demon claws its way out from my palm.  _

 

I jostle awake, sweaty from the nightmare, and look down to find Cassandra looking up at me, my hand still resting on her neck. “My…” she takes a small breath like she is collecting her thoughts then purses her lips like a word is trapped in them, her face flushes a light red then she says quietly, “my arm is asleep.” 

I realize I'm holding her tightly so I relax my arms and stretch my legs to release her from my embrace.  She pushes her palm onto my chest and stands up.  She’s a little wobbly but is determined to make her way to her drying clothes, now stiff from the sun.  She kneels down testing her faded tunic with her fingers. I stretch my shoulders and roll my head to loosen my neck.  It’s well after midday, we were only asleep for a few hours.  

Varric comes up the hill carrying a few fish.  “That rift isn’t as angry now the demons seem to be napping in it or something, I say we stay away from it for a bit.  I brought some lunch if we want to try and make up a fire?” my stomach grumbles as I look at his catch. “Also I fished the Seeker’s goods out of the water,” his eyes bounce to her sword and shield now dry in the sun.

I rise to my feet and come out from under the overhang, my hamstrings tight from the night, “I could go for some food.”   

Varric sets down his catch, one still flapping its tail on the ground, and pulls together some twigs.  “What do you think chuckles, can you give us a few sparks?” 

“I think I can manage,” Solas responds coldly, not pleased with the closeness we all shared these last hours.  

I let myself relax as the gentle flames warm my sore muscles.  I’d forgotten I was shirtless until Cassandra walks toward me in her own clothes holding my shirt folded in her arms.  She stands at the fire for a few moments then stretches her hand toward me returning my shirt. 

“Thank you” she says without moving her eyes from the fire.

I go to grab it and my fingers graze against her hand, the touch causes her to snap her head up and look at me, we stand there a few seconds, a few minutes, I’m not sure, I don’t know what to say, it’s been a very long time since I’ve slept with a woman in my arms. I feel heat at my ears as I remember how she felt warming slowly in my embrace and how my heart quickened at the touch of her. 

“You’re welcome,” is all I can muster as I take my shirt and throw it over my head, my distraction causes me to clumsily catch it on my left horn and I shake my head until it slides to my neck, still warm from Cassandra’s body heat.  

“Fish fillets a la carte,” Varric chimes and pulls a stick of charred fish out of the fire, handing it to me. I have it down in three bites. He pulls another from the fire and offers it to me, I could easily eat 6 but two will do for now.

“We must find those wolves,” Solas notes as he prods his cleaned stick back into the fire. “I believe their den is just ahead in those caverns.”

“Let us not delay then,” Cassandra straps her sword into her belt and picks up her shield.  


	4. Of Mages and Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Hinterlands, with abominations.

**Chapter 4: Of Wolves and Mages**

  


“ _Stolen pearl devotions we_ __  
_Keep locked away from all the world_ __  
_We twist and turn where angels burn_ __  
_Like fallen soldiers we will learn_ __  
_Once forgotten, twice removed_ __  
_Love will be the death_ _  
_ __The death of you”

__ -Savage Garden

  
  


With the embers dying in the dirt behind us we venture forth.  The riverside ledge broadens in height as we scale upward into a small grove encircled by shafts of cavernous rocks.  Several wolves with frazzled hair and red eyes growl as we near the cave entrance.  Varric’s crossbow grinds and a bolt hits the shoulder of one, it yelps as it staggers to the ground.  Cassandra charges into the middle of the pack shield ready.  She diverts one into the ground and stabs another through the skull.  I take aim and shoot the downed beast in the chest.  The final wolf is encased in ice by Solas so I pull another arrow and aim for the center. The wolf shatters on impact.   

With the wolves at the entrance slain we pass through the rocky opening into their ominous cavern. The earth smells moist and there is a hint of rotten animal corpses carried with the wind as it whistles through the vine covered walls. More wolves howl and spring toward us, they were circling around a gnarled bark terror.  Its slender eerie hands creak and point toward us commanding the attack.

“The demon must be controlling the wolves!” Solas shouts as he throws his hands toward me and Cassandra.  The faint glow and familiar tingle of his barrier surrounds us.  She bellows and charges forward.  I can’t help but watch her awestruck, she was so weak in my arms just an hour before.  My seconds of admiration are rewarded with a wolf’s jaws around my arm. I kick it off and it yelps as it crashes against the rocks. I pull my dagger and plunge it into the soft belly.  Dark warm blood flows onto my hands as the fury flesh separates. I shake them violently to dissipate the moisture and draw an arrow.  Cassandra has slain two wolves and the final wolf is pinned in the neck with Varric’s bolt.  Solas hurls an ice bolt from each hand toward the demon and they hit in each shoulder. Its twisted jaw shakes as it emits a hollow scream, I send an arrow into its eye socket throwing its head back.  Cassandra wastes no time and charges it into the coarse rock wall. Its body snaps like thin dry branches as she presses it harder with her shield. Moments later a bolt hits its forehead and its body is limp.  In the distance a series of howls fills the sky as wolves are released from the demon’s enthrall.  

“The wolves must be happy to be free of the demon’s control,” Solas smiles. 

“Let us report back to horse master Dennet,” adds Cassandra shaking the blood from her sword before she sheaths it.

On the journey back to the farm we scale the other side of the riverbank to avoid the rift, we silently agree that is a battle for another time.  The horse master’s wife is pleased to hear the wolves have been dealt with but our task isn’t finished, we still have two towers to mark.  

After replenishing our supplies at the camp and warning the scouts of the rift we travel southward.  The peaceful walk through the farmlands makes me miss the way life was before the rifts.  Even the life of a mercenary outsider was calmer than now. My thoughts take me to sitting around a campfire with the rest of Valos, my Vashoth family.  Where are they now? Do they know I made it out of the Conclave? My stomach turns.  Our captain wasn’t there, he only sent me and four others to protect the mage.  I remember each of their faces as a lump builds in my throat.  

“I spy with my little eye…” Varric casually breaks the silence.

“NO” Cassandra spurts. 

“But” Varric grins his eyes gleaming at her.

“NO” Cassandra retorts flatly her face set in her usual scowl.

Varric grunts, “Well you should be good at finding things. Of course, you…couldn’t find Hawke.”

Cassandra draws her eyebrows together, she wants to hit him and struggles to maintain control.  

      “Hawke? The champion of Kirkwall?” I inquire as I recall the qunari occupation in Kirkwall, the champion, as the city called her, dueled the Arishok and killed him, she became countess after and the qunari fled the city.  Many assume that being qunari I would want to know all the details of what “my people” are up to. I was with the Valos in a tavern in Wycome when the news hit.

“She’s an old friend,” Varric replies smugly, “The seeker here invited me over for dinner to chat about her and the night went awry and ended in a bit of torture and imprisonment.”

“I merely questioned him!” Cassandra defends her scowl intensifying.

“Yes seeker, with knives and your angry eyes!”

I've decided Varric is the type that throws pebbles at the back of people’s heads then looks the other way when they turn around.

“You and your book were my only lead,” she gasps. 

“Yes and now your copy of “the Tale of the Champion” has a knife through it and no Hawke. I would have signed it but then you had to get violent.”

She emits a disapproving noise deep in her throat and quickens her pace to get ahead of us.  

“Is that what you do, write books Varric?” I ask, there is much I still don’t know about him but the new information isn't surprising.

“Yes he has several series out,” Cassandra adds over her shoulder then suddenly needs to adjust the buckles on her gauntlets.

“I do write from time to time, but officially I am a part of the surface merchant’s guild.”

“So you are from Kirkwall? were you there when the Champion encountered the qunari?”

“Yes, me and Hawke go way back, the Arishok was such a cheerful delightful fellow and very serious about his books.”

His meaning is above my head. “Wait, this is the spot for the second tower,” I halt and pull out my map to confirm.  We are at the flat part of the hill just before the opening leading into the farmlands.  I stick a small makeshift flag in the ground, the inquisition forces will find this no problem.

The final tower is beyond fort Conner on the edge of Witchwood.  Retracing our steps back toward the crossroads is easier without the rogue Templars in every corner.  We circle the small mountain to find a small clearing that overlooks the gorge into the quant valley between the crossroads and the farmlands.  We encounter some rebel mages on our way, they have a small camp set up surrounded by glyphs.  Two mages sitting around the fire jump to their feet as we approach. 

“This is ridiculous,” Solas says as he raises his hands and sends an ice spike from each of his palms into the hearts of both mages.  Varric checks the camp for useful supplies and holds up a scrap of paper, he reads:

“Are you tired of letting the witless fools bind you with their fear? Come to the Witchwood. Follow the signs. We will be free to work our craft, free to become the new gods we have always known we truly are.”

“We cannot let them remain,” Cassandra takes the letter from Varric. 

I mark the location with another makeshift flag.  As soon as we can get a message to Corporal Vale construction of the watchtowers can begin.

“What are the signs to the mage encampment?” I say mostly to myself as we delve deeper into the forest. I don’t know if there are specific markers the mages set up, but there is a path of ice that leads north and I don't need my years of experience as a tracker to tell that’s a good indication of where to start, “let’s find them,” everyone nods at my words.

The Witchwood is a thicket of dead branches merging with new mossy growth.  The sunlight is dim with the dense tree coverage. As the wind blows lightly openings to the sky allow for beams of light to shine through.  We need only travel half a mile into the thicket before we encounter another tear.  Feeling when a rift is near is becoming second nature to me. 

“There’s a rift ahead,” I draw my bow.  Cassandra nods and takes point with her shield at the ready.  

“Well Bianca was getting restless anyways,” Varric readies his crossbow.  

The sky crackles in spurts of green and the now familiar terror demon crawls from it.  It is barely out of the rift when it’s thrown back with a bolt to the head. Cassandra stabs her sword through its mouth and it crumbles as she kicks it from her blade.  The next demon falls through the rift right on Cassandra and she growls as they both fall to the ground.  Within seconds I jump onto the demon’s back to throw him from her. My hands tear at its bark skin and sting as it punctures my fingers. Despite the struggle I am able to pin it to the ground. A whoosh of air passes by my head as a bolt lands in the demon’s face.  Its motionless body still penned under my knees I throw my left hand up to the rift and in seconds it is sealed.  

We find more rebel mages deeper in, Signs of battle scorch the area.  We come to a small opening with a vast sheet of ice upon the ground like a pond that has been frozen over. A few shards of ice extend about 40 feet toward the sky. A small swarm of rebel mages stand before a cavern beyond the ice.  

Cassandra tucks her head behind her shield, her sword poised, and runs toward the mages.  She slides on the ice as she approaches them.  Solas extends a barrier over us and Varric and I divide to flank the sides.  Four arrows is all I lose as we take them down, blood flows thick over the ice in a red spill.  The cavern opening has a strange look about it, it shimmers in the sunlight and feels like the air is thicker.  I put my palm up inches from where the air changes, “heat?”

“It’s a magical ward,” Solas answers, “stand back I will dispel it”

We take a step behind him. He closes his eyes and taps the barrier gently with his staff, it sounds like a campfire popping over fresh wood and a wave of heat covers us then fades.

Inside crates form a narrow path along the walls, leaving only enough room for one person to pass through.  Varric crouches down to creep silently to the crates, he takes a handful of mines and scatters them in the opening.  He retreats several feet behind the right side crate and readies Bianca.  I nod and take a position on the other wall.  We are about 6 feet apart with Cassandra behind us in the middle, ready to receive the impending rush of Mages once they discover our presence.  Beyond our crates the Cavern is tall, the bodies inside illuminated only by their small camp fires.  I count ten figures.  I pick one and train my bow on him.  I assume Varric has done the same.  

          “Now!” I whisper and my arrow flies hitting my target, simultaneously another figure falls from Varric’s bolt.  

Solas sends shards of ice into two targets, one in the stomach and another is hit in the upper leg.  Three down, one injured, not a bad start for our ambush.  The sudden attack rouses the others, they confusedly grab staves and form a mob to run toward the entry way. I take one down before he can form a fireball in his hands, the spell flares out as my arrow hits his shoulder and the flames overtake him.  Two have made it to the entryway where Varric’s unsuspecting mines are waiting.  The crackle of explosions echo through the cave and the two figures are no more, their remains scattered in pungent charred chunks from the mines. With the traps gone Cassandra sprints into the center of the remaining four.  She is hit with a blast of fire as one of the Mages attacks from the center, she tucks her head into her shield to protect her face as the flames roll over the edges past her.  While she is ducked I take the opportunity to send an arrow into his chest.  Solas thrusts a second ice shard into the face of his original maimed target.  I circle to the other side of Cassandra where the remaining two mages stand side by side.  They are young, can’t be more than 17.  Their faces in fear they grab each other’s hands and start to chant. I hesitate, then close my eyes and take a breath. I pull back my bow and open my eyes ready to do what I must but I can't do it.

“Do you even understand this war you find yourselves in?” I demand as my fingers ache holding my string back.

“Herald!” Cassandra shouts and charges in front of me.  Despite the fact that I tower over her she is determined to shield me as one of the mages screams and falls to his hands and knees on the ground.  With horrifying sounds his flesh tears like cloth at his back; a misshapen abomination demon rises from the remains. Cassandra doesn’t hesitate, she stabs the demon in the ribs.  It laughs and throws her aside. She crashes against the rock wall hard and crumples motionless to the ground.  It cackles loudly, her sword still lodged in its ribs. The other mage stands in paralyzed horror, his eyes wide in terror “Adonis!!” He screams but the abomination is all that remains.  It strikes the terrified mage with its clawed fingers ripping through his chest covering its hands with blood.  

“THIS IS OUR POWER,” its voice is deep and unsettling.  It throws its dripping hands in my direction and blades of blood slice through my leather armor. The sting brings me back into the moment and I send an arrow right through its eye socket, at this close distance the arrow passes straight through and sticks taunt in the wall behind the demon. It stalls the beast just enough for Solas to throw a sheet of ice through its neck decapitating it.  The body falls, smoke and the smell of rotting flesh rising from the remains.  

I run to Cassandra’s crumpled body, “this is my fault.” I kneel down to her and despite the force she was thrown she is already getting herself up.

“It’s nothing,” she says emotionless then walks to the corpse to retrieve her sword.  

“The rebel mages won’t bother the refugees now,” Varric adds, the usual positive tone in his voice waning.

I slowly walk to the wall to retrieve my arrow and scrape it against a rock to remove the demon’s eye. I sigh, “we need to send word to Haven.”


	5. Unrest in the Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from the Hinterlands Vane starts to digest the impact of being Andraste's chosen.

**Chapter 5: Unrest in The Herald**

 

 _“Dreams of war, dreams of liars_ __  
_Dreams of dragon's fire_ __  
_And of things that will bite_ __  
_Sleep with one eye open_ _  
_ __Gripping your pillow tight”

_ -Metallica  _

  
  


Josephine shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she reasons, “Having the Herald address the clerics isn’t a terrible idea.”

Cullen scratches the back of his neck, “You can’t be serious!” as though she had suggested I burn myself in the square.

Josephine smirks at him and retorts, “Mother Giselle isn’t wrong, at the moment the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” She has a way of tilting her torso slightly on certain words, the shadow pattern on her silk shirt shifts on “strength” and “opinion.”

Leliana stands with her gloved hands behind her back and remarks quietly, “and we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

Josephine’s head tilts as she looks at me from an interested side gaze, her words are nearly seductive as she says, “Let’s ask him,” although I suspect she already knows my answer.

I shrug, “what can they do it’s just talk,” even though standing in front of heckling Chantry mothers isn’t really on my bucket list.

Leliana shifts her pale eyes toward me, “don’t underestimate the power of their words. An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Cassandra steps toward the table, “I will go with him.” She turns her gaze to Leliana, “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names, use them.”

Leliana throws her folded arms to her sides in agitation, “but why? This is nothing but a-“

Cassandra frustrated with the lack of a concrete unified decision retorts, “what choice do we have Leliana?” She sighs and lowers her head on her shoulders, “right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the breach.” They are like bickering sisters, whatever keeps them together is stronger than any disagreement they could have. “Use what influence we have to call the clerics together,” she continues tapping her finger on the table, “once they are ready, we will see this through.”

I follow Cassandra out of the war room.  We haven’t spoken about the river and it might just be my own paranoia but it's built a wall between us.  I doubt she wants to think of it but I can’t stop playing it over in my mind.  I feel the sting of self-consciousness as I remember how she looked at me when I pulled off my shirt, I’m not human, the circumstances that brought her into my arms weren’t her choice, someone like me might not ever be her choice.  The thought burns in my chest. I need to push her from my mind. I watch her hair bounce on her collar as we walk. When she returned my shirt there was a moment, but could she?...my thoughts are interrupted as someone calls me from behind. 

“Herald a moment?” Josephine leads me to her office just one door to the right out of the war room.  I watch as Cassandra is lost to the darkened hallway. 

“What did you need Ambassador?” I inquire as she sits down in her large chair.   

“Well, as you are Tal-Vashoth, people have asked…” she looks down at her desk and shuffles some papers, “you grew up outside the Qunari homeland, and well,” she sighs and looks up at me, “there is no easy way to ask your thoughts on the Qun.”

“I don’t think about it,” there’s a great deal of honesty in my reply, “the very nature of the Tal-Vashoth is that we have forsaken the rule of the Qun to live free.” It could just be growing up out of the Qun but I like to believe I have choices in my life, even if I really don’t.  My mother would wrap the rough blanket around my neck and say “own your choices” when she tucked me in at night. When my mom left the Qun and found my father in the Valos I think they both knew finding their choice would be difficult.  When I was very young sometimes the kids in the village would throw rocks at my horns and one time my rage took over and I pummeled one nearly to death. Snapping his twig arm was so easy I barely felt it happen. We were forced out of the village. My mother wasn’t as upset at being kicked out of that area as I thought she should be. My father valued honor and I disrespected the town that paid us, he was disappointed in me.  She would say that being powerful doesn’t make me strong, but control does, control yourself and make the choices, don’t let anyone else make them for you.  I don’t think my parents had much value in the traditional Qunari way of life, for them we related more to the elves in the alienages.  Not really of our people but not of the humans either.  Somewhere lost in the middle. 

“You must,” she replies breaking my thoughts, “if these rumors-that you would convert us all to the Qun….continue.”

I raise an eyebrow, “it’s laughable that I would be here to convert anyone, especially to the Qun, for one they wouldn’t just send one Qunari, especially one born on foreign soil. The way I understand it they would come with a fleet and conquer and enslave first then offer option of convert or die.”

“People ask how a Qunari could be Andraste’s Herald. It worries them if they believe it, and angers them if they do not.” 

“I can see your point,” I admit. Most people are either angry or worried with me around regardless of the added Herald of Andraste bit.

She folds her hands on the papers she just spread, “convincing them of your good intentions will be tasking.”

“I’m not sure I can really help ambassador, some folks just don’t see past the horns, maybe I could wear a large hat?” Her expression is less than amused so I sigh, “you’ll think of something.” She’s clever with people, I’m confident she will find a way.

“I hope so, it will be interesting.” She dips her quill gracefully into the ink well, “strangely your mercenary work is not so inflammatory; people are fabricating extravagant tales of your heroics.”

“My heroics?” I stifle a laugh, she’s focused on her writing and doesn’t notice. That is a bit of an exaggeration, I can’t help but be amused, “there wasn’t a group around that didn’t want my help when a tough assignment came up. If you wanted it done Adaar was the top of the list.” More like they sent me to do the jobs they were either too lazy for or just plain didn’t want to do because the pay was too low.  I study her expression to see if she is buying into my bluff. I never was very good at poker.

Her face is sincere as she sets her pen back in the ink, “I noticed, Leliana found a letter from the captain of your last company. He had nothing but praise for your skill in battle, but doesn’t mention what part you played.” 

Flabbergasted I ask, “Captain Tully praised me? William “iron-ass” Tully?” 

“That’s quite the moniker,” her tone evident she isn't chiming in on my joke, “but yes. Your captain went so far as to say he’d have lost entire battles without you.”

“I thought Captain Tully didn’t even notice me,” I’m still in denial, that jerk was always hard on me.  When I chose the bow over lances or great weapons it made me the subject of mockery and the captain never missed an opportunity to point it out.  They never showed praise when I would snipe enemies from afar.  Often I was beneath notice and I began to prefer it that way. 

“It would be difficult to miss someone of your stature, Herald,” she says coyly looking up at me from her thick dark lashes, “perhaps your captain felt it improper to play favorites. He certainly valued your skills in your last engagement.” She emits a subtle desire in her mannerisms that I'm not accustomed to and I blush. 

“I was in charge of mercenaries storming the headquarters of the bandits we were to dispatch,” I recall the assignment, all my team were initiates, among them I was the only seasoned merc and the only reasonable choice to head the group, “we caught them by surprise. It was over before the sentries even blew their horns.” 

“That is impressive,” her tone reflects genuine admiration, “I hope Haven doesn’t bore you, compared to such exploits.”

“My time since I crawled out of the conclave explosion has been anything but boring.” I recall my first day as the Herald, Cassandra bathed in pride demon blood as she sliced through its neck, the green light from the breach illuminating her as it’s head rolled to the ground and she screamed to me, “close it now!” Then when I woke up days later, not knowing if I was going to prison or to be killed on sight, she defended me against Roderick. I smile, “there are some people who’ve made staying worthwhile.” My face grows hot as I remember her breath on my chest by the river.

“How wonderful, you must tell me who they are,” she responds nonchalantly turning back to her documents.

I let out a sigh. I cannot talk about this with the Josephine. In honesty I can't talk to anyone. I bow my head and leave the Ambassador, oblivious to my turmoil, to her papers.  

 

The air is crisp and cold, but feels good on my face.  I walk down the stone path through the town and out the great doors.  My head is spinning with everything that’s happened. I need a walk alone.  The soldiers are skirmishing in the field just outside the gates.  Tents and practice dummies form a perimeter around their sparring ring.  Cassandra is at the edge swinging a long sword furiously at the dummy.  She glances at me from the corner of her eye and hits the dummy harder.  My heart drops into my stomach. I’ve been too inept to hold much of a conversation with her, and despite my discomfort I can’t keep avoiding it, I need to speak to her.  She seems to be soaked in irritation as she strikes with more ferocity at her defenceless target. She shrugs her shoulders to stretch them and makes a disgruntled noise, like she just stepped in druffalo poop as I tread cautiously closer.  

“You’re kind of a force of nature aren’t you?” I awkwardly break the silence, pausing well outside her sword reach.

She smirks then squares up to the dummy, “when I need to be.”

She drives her sword through the dummy’s arm, as it falls with a thud I add, “you’re impressive.”

Her eyes meet mine then quickly return to the dummy, as she responds concentrating on her target, “you flatter me.”

“I’m trying,” I shake my head and chuckle. 

She kicks the wooden arm into the snow and paces, “Did I do the right thing?” I take a step toward her now that she isn't in attack mode while she continues, “what I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life,” she takes a stance on the other side of the dummy and bounces on the balls of her feet preparing to strike, “one day they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right,” her eyebrows gather in concern.  Small beads of sweat trickle from under her short hair down her cheeks.  The bruise on her jaw has healed.

“Isn’t it a bit late to worry about it now?” I attempt to reassure her, wishing I knew the best way to set her at ease.   

Her face is stern, “we have only just begun.” Holding her blade with two hands she strikes the dummy at an angle, resets her stance and strikes it again. It falls in halves to the ground, “my trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash.  You must think before you act.’” She throws the blade to the ground and steps toward me, “I see what must be done, and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail,” her face softens, “but I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day.” She hesitates as she searches my face, “I cannot afford to be so careless again.” 

“Can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that,” I smile wide remembering when she first led me in chains to the breach,  her look of surprise when I willingly agreed to help as she kneeled next to me.  

“I can be harsh I know,” she turns to walk towards a rack of swords but stalls looking back at me, her tone inquisitive, “You’ve said you believe you’re chosen. Does that mean…you believe in the Maker?” I haven’t blatantly said I was chosen but not openly denying it either I suppose the hopeful will interpret my indifference in their favor.  Cassandra has believed in me since I closed the first rift. Or at least believed her Maker has chosen me. 

“You’re asking me?” I motion my hand to my horns, as if to confirm to her I am obviously not worthy of the Maker. I am a bit touchy about talking about Andrastian beliefs, or the Qun, I’m not a follower of either and ever since I’ve been declared the Herald seem blasphemous to my nature either way.

“You’re not a follower of the Qun, you could be….” The hope has dropped from her face, it stings me, I don’t like disappointing her, “I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” she says quietly in response to my silence, “I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not,” she shakes her head and steps away from me, “now it simply remains to see where it leads us.” I leave her at the weapons rack inspecting the swords.

The dock protrudes over a frozen lake, the same body of water we followed to the temple of Sacred Ashes.  I’ve made it far enough that the clatter of soldiers sparring is only a whisper carried by the light breeze.  The snow is fresh but for a few fennec fox paw prints.  I wish I could stand here feeling the ice through my boots until this whole tear in the sky situation was over.  I never dreamed I would long for my old life.  Even among the mercenaries I felt like an outsider, now I have the hopeful faithful looking to me to save Thedas by healing the sky.  I’m lonelier now than I’ve ever been. The Herald of Andraste. I shake the thoughts from my mind and focus instead on the tall pine trees speckled in soft snow.  The smell of pine and cold earth is comforting.  Down my path nestled in the rock and snow is a small house, dark and cold.  Adan had described his master’s house, this must be it.  I cautiously push open the door, the notes the apothecary hoped to find could still be here.  The air is stale but the cold wind is lost in the walls.  The floor creaks as i walk the single room hovel, and although it’s been empty some time I feel timid in my trespass. A desk sits at the far end with a mess of papers scattered across it, notes with ingredient mixtures and measures I don’t fully understand.  I organize them into a neat pile and fold them into my belt.  Maybe this will help somebody.  

It’s only been a few days since we returned from the crossroads.  By now the towers Bron requested should be complete, and Master Dennet will be arriving with mounts soon.  They will be welcome, a journey to Val Royeaux on foot would take us over two weeks.  My toes are frozen in my boots, since i left Taigen’s doorstep I’ve been treading through the snow for an hour.  I don’t think I’ve had a full and proper meal since this ordeal began.  As I walk back toward the gate a bird flies above toward Haven, it’s one of Leliana’s, its foot tag glimmers in the sun.  News about the Chantry maybe.  I’ll find out soon enough.  I slow my pace, but I’m just delaying the inevitable.

When I stride through the main doors a scout is waiting to meet me, “My lord, Nightingale wishes to speak with you.”

“Thank you I’ll go see her,” I head to the merchant tent that has been converted into her spymaster hub just outside the Chantry doors.  A table with a detailed map sits inside as well as a few crates, food for the birds.  Leliana is in the corner on her knees, her hands clasped in prayer. 

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow,” her head bowed and eyes closed she continues in a hushed tone, “in their blood the maker’s will is written, is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done?” She raises her head and stand looking up, “Is death your only blessing?”

This is taking a bleak turn, I turn to leave her in privacy but she stops me with her glare, “you speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s his game?” Her words are sharp and accusatory. 

“I speak for no one but myself, and I have no answers for you.”

“You probably don’t even worship the Maker, lucky, he asks a lot,” she spats the words, “the Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins, he demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths,” even as her voice heightens in anger it still manages to sound soothing through her Orlesian accent, “Justina gave him everything she had, and he let her die!” Her eyes are hard and angry.

“I’m sorry,” I console, “her death clearly hit you hard.”

“Not just me, all of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is he?” She is on the verge of angry tears but they don’t come as she explains, “I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing.”

The backlash of the letdown faithful, a broken spirit that can’t understand that bad things happen and the world is unjust regardless of who’s the victim.  I feel bad for her, this Divine meant so much to her, it’s obvious she was more than just the leader of the faithful to Leliana.

“Maybe you have another purpose. I could help you find it?” It’s a pitiful attempt but I mean it.

“No, this is my burden, I regret that I even let you see me like this.” Her voice returns to its low even cool tone, “It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again,” she turns to her table. “Come, to work then-” an agent runs toward us and her eyes narrow, “we will speak later.” 

I stand to the side leaning on one of her tent poles while the scout hands her a small rolled up note.

She crumples it in her hand and her head drops, “so it is true, Butler has turned on us. I’d hoped my hunch was wrong”

“You knew him well?” the scout asks.

“Not as well as I thought,” she says coldly, “show me the reports.”

He hands her a few sheets of paper written by different agents. Leliana glances them over quickly, “there were so many questions surrounding Farrier’s death. Did he think we wouldn’t notice? He’s killed Farrier, one of my best agents. And knows where the others are.” Her eyes darken, “you know what must be done, make it clean. Painless if you can. We were friends once.”

“Wait what are you doing?” I introject, her cold calculated command to kill an agent sends chills through my spine.

“He betrayed us. He murdered my agent.”

“And you would kill him? Just like that?” she clearly cared about this person at one point, there has to be something else that can be done.

“You find fault with my decision?” her eyes narrow at my challenge.

“I’m sure most of your decisions are fine. But that one? A little extreme.” 

“Extreme?” she crosses her arms, “Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens,” she throws her arms down and walks toward me, “I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”

My words are firm, “now is precisely the time for ideals,” I cannot deny how intimidating she is and I lock my jaw to keep my nerves from chittering my teeth.

She turns from me and walks back to her table, “you feel very strongly about this.” She braces herself with both palms on the edge of it and sighs, “very well, I will think of another way to deal with this man,” she looks at the agent, “apprehend Butler but see that he lives.” The agent nods and backs out of the enclosure. “Now if you’re happy, I have more work to do.” Her irritation is clear and I decide not to bring up the fact that she called for me, no doubt to discuss the news the bird delivered.  I’m sure once she cools down she will call for me again. For now I’m going to try and get some sleep.

 

_ The water is cold and green and something grabs at my ankles, slithery legs, lots of legs. They drag me down and I bat at them with my hands but I feel nothing. The sea turns black. I'm being dragged deeper into the darkness in a slow gentle pull. A song, my favorite lullaby. That voice. “Mother!” I shout into the blackness. But now the eyes are circling me and their legs are piercing my body. Mother. My chest aches as they pull me deeper into the nothingness. _

 

Air quickly fills my lungs as I suck in a deep breath. Disoriented I jump and scurry to a defensive pose. Wide dark eyes meet mine as my heart pulses with adrenaline.  I shake my shoulders still feeling the legs crawling on me.

“Forgive the intrusion Herald, there was a scream…” My eyes focus on the silky shape of the ambassador backed up to the dresser by my bed.

“Josephine! I’m-” I relax my arms and slither to a seated position on the edge of the bed, my heart still pounding from the nightmare.

She softens her expression and moves to me, soothingly she whispers, “crying.”

“What?” I groan turning my face away. I briskly run the back of my hand over my cheek, “it was...just a dream, I’m fine....” I still have residual emotions weighing on my chest but they are fading. Regaining my composure I turn back to her, “Sorry.” I shiver from the cool air drifting from the window hitting my sweat. 

She stands motionless her lingering eyes traveling over me, I then realize I’m shirtless and only in my smallclothes. I'm frozen as my face and ears flash red from my indecent outfit.   

Feeling my embarrassment she turns her head politely and says, “if you are quite well my lord, I shall take my leave.”

As soon as her soft shoes hit the threshold I grab the blanket and pull it over my head.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It’s late morning by the time I leave my borrowed blanket fort. In front of the chantry doors commander Cullen and Chancellor Roderick are engaged in an argument.  Cullen breaks into a small smile at the corner of his mouth as I approach, “Mages and Templars were already at war, now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

Before I can respond Roderick cuts me off “Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” his words grating.

“Who you?” Cullen scoffs, “random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the conclave?”

“The rebel Inquisition and it’s so called “Herald of Andraste”?” Roderick shakes his head in mockery, “I think not.”

This guy makes the hair on my neck stand up, I want to backhand him but I wrestle the urge down and instead calmly admit, “I don’t believe I’m Andraste’s Herald any more than you do, Chancellor.” I cannot let the Chancellor continue to use my supposed claim to be holy to deter what the Inquisition is trying to accomplish.

“That laudable humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them,” he sneers. 

Cullen introjects, “The Inquisition claims only that we must close the Breach or perish.”

Roderick is determined to dislike us no matter what argument we take, “you say that now commander, we shall see if the sentiment remains true.”

“I’ll make sure they see reason in Val Royeaux,” I add, there must be some reasonable clerics out there not blinded by their hate at the idea that a Qunari can close the rifts and save us all, that this actually has nothing to do with Andraste.

“I pray that you’re right” Cullen sighs.  

Whether Leliana is ready to see me again or not after yesterday it doesn’t matter, we need to resolve the Chantry issue soon.  She stands with her back to me tossing seed into the cages of her birds.  One sits perched on her thick leather gloved hand. 

“Leliana? I want to ask you about the news brought by your bird yesterday.” I step inside and the bird caws in my direction.  I reach out to pet it, it pecks at my finger then bows for me to brush the feathers on its head gently. I put my arm up then hesitate to offer it to the bird until Leliana’s expression grants me permission. 

She smiles at me from under her hood as the bird hops comfortably on my arm, “Master Dennet has sent word, we expect the first shipment of horses by the end of the day.”

“Did Giselle’s contacts have any success?”

“They have, they will be meeting in a week, I recommend you and Cassandra set out tomorrow morning,” she responds throwing the remaining birdseed in her hand in the last cage.  The bird on my arm pecks at my sleeve as if to say goodbye, then hops in after it. “Reports of fade rifts and demons keep coming,” she shifts to face me, “the people are terrified, and it’s only getting worse, the only thing that will calm their fears now is the hope that someone out there can save them. You have to be that someone. No one else has any power over the rifts,” she folds her hands in front of her in a moment of reflection, “seal them. Your legend will spread, and Thedas will learn to trust the Inquisition.”

“I didn’t ask to become the Herald,” I say quietly more to the bird than her as I rustle it's chest feathers through the cage with my finger. I want to explain to her how terrifying it is to wake up as the hope of all Thedas but the words don’t come. 

I don’t need to say anything, somehow she already understands, “I know, but sometimes we don’t choose the role we play in destiny. Travel safely.  I have sent a scout ahead, she will meet you in Val Royeaux.”

  
  



	6. The Chantry of Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vane travels to the Orlesian capital to appeal to the Chantry.

**Chapter 6: The Chantry of Val Royeaux**

 

_ “It's not your fault that you're always wrong _

_ the weak ones are there to justify the strong _

_ the beautiful people the beautiful people _

_ it's all relative to the size of your steeple _

_ you can't see the forest for the trees _

_ you can't smell your own shit on your knees" _

_ -Marilyn Manson _

 

This is not my first time through the Orlesian capital but still my initial opinion from 10 years ago remains, Val Royeaux is overdone. It’s all silks and lavish buildings taller than practicality and the streets seethe with pompous overdressed citizens silently picking at each other like social vultures.

On either side of us are great gold statues depicting the tales of Andraste, each one with a plaque below it.  Under one are the words in faded gold block lettering “The avenue of her reflective thought; our lady and the actors of her rise and fall. Her message and visage are worth repeating.” The next statue is of a man holding a pot in one hand as though it was about to slip through his fingers, “Maferath’s Remorse” it reads, and on the same plaque someone has scratched, “at meeting a low door frame.” The statue is indeed holding the top of his head as though he had bonked it. The next one reads “Maferath’s regret” and the statue stands smooth marble holding his hairless head in regret, scratched under the words in the same fashion as before, “about his unfortunate hair.” I suppress a laugh.  The “Herald” finding humor in vandalized religious statues would be poor taste, but it’s hard not to crack a smile.  I notice Cassandra looking in my direction and when our eyes meet she turns away.  Did she notice my reaction to the statues? I worry I’ve offended her. 

In the center of the capital is a tall blue tower, adorned along its perimeter with gaudy gold lions, “the lions of Orlais.” All the plant life here is well manicured and landscaped, except the vines that grow onto the buildings, creeping up to the top toward the sun.  Despite the well-manicured and impressive buildings the unruly vines offer a sense of comfort, nature attempting to overrule the painted clay jungle. Small merchant booths manned by people in ruffles and masks blanket the outskirts.  The gallows is here too, interesting layout choice, right in the middle of this city of majestic beauty.  When I look up to the sun, faded red silk banners dance in the wind, the bright light shining through as they sway back and forth.  I absent mindedly speak aloud, “I have to wonder if there is someone assigned to washing them after storms.”

Varric nods approvingly, “you know what, I have wondered that myself.”

Cassandra and Solas ignore us and walk ahead toward the center of the square.  A podium is set on the far end of the circle where the Chantry mothers have gathered.  A flock of citizens stands in a crowd around them. I have yet to see the Templars, they must still be in route.  I take a breath and march right into the middle of the crowd as the forestage Chantry mother bellows out, “good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” she raises her arms in a victory V above her head, “together we mourn our Divine her brave and beautiful heart silenced by treachery!” her eyes narrow when she sees me. Not surprising as I stand a head above the crowd. Behind her one young Templar stands at attention, with bright green eyes and dark skin he looks over the crowd as she continues, “you wonder what will become of her murderer. Well wonder no more!” Her voice heightens as she points at me, “Behold the so called Herald of Andraste claiming to rise where our beloved fell.” I feel a hundred eyes on me and a seed of panic tightens in my chest under the weight of their stares. “We say this is a false prophet! A wicked Qunari sent to subvert the Maker’s word!”

I swallow down the anxious lump in my throat and shout out, “We came in peace, simply to talk,” my neck is getting sweaty, and my shirt sticks to my back. My chest pounding I look to Cassandra, her encouraging nod helps my voice gain strength, “and this is what you do? I implore you let us sit down together, to deal with the real threat!” I’m light headed and pause trying to breath normally.  The faces is the crowd blur.

Cassandra brushes my arm as she steps forward and continues my plight, “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late the Templars have returned to the Chantry!” She points to her left as a battalion of Templars makes their way through the crowd, “They will face this “Inquisition” and the people will be safe once more!”

The leader steps onto the podium while his second in command brings his arm up and back hands the Mother. The young Templar at her side jumps to her defense as she falls to the ground but the leader puts up his arm, “Still yourself she is beneath us.” The young man is confused but follows orders. 

If the Templars were here to protect them from the Inquisition this is certainly far-fetched behavior, “You’re not here to deal with the Inquisition?” I shout through my clenched jaw. 

The leader is an older man, his graying hair pulled back in a ponytail and his face in rough patches, his speech is even and emotionless as he responds plainly, “as if there were any reason to.” He walks off the podium toward the city gate.

Cassandra strides toward him, “Lord seeker Lucius, it is imperative we speak with-“

He coldly cuts her off, “You will not address me.” He doesn’t look her way and continues right past her.

“Lord Seeker?” her face is flushed in confusion. 

He stops at the gallows, “creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed,” his light grey eyes are glazed over, he raises his voice to the crowd, “you should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the Mages!” he points at the center of Cassandra’s chest, “you are the ones who have failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

This was the Lord Seeker Cassandra mentioned? He doesn’t deserve her reverence. I ignore his rhetoric and argue, “what we truly need is an alliance that will seal the breach!”

“Oh the breach is indeed a threat. But you certainly have no power to do anything about it,” he responds as if he were a parent addressing an overzealous child that claims to run away from home and make it on their own. 

The green eyed young Templar approaches Lucius and asks earnestly, “But Lord Seeker what if he really was sent by the Maker? What if….?” He looks eagerly at me, he wants to believe. 

The same Templar that struck the sister stands next to Lucius, his eyes are darkened from lack of sleep, he answers in monotone, “you are called to a higher purpose! Do not question.”

Lucius narrows his eyes, “I will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence!” he turns to peer at me, his eyes are void, “you have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition less than nothing,” his lips are stretched thin over crooked teeth, “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”  The Templars follow him in procession to the gate.

Varric circles to face us, “charming fellow, isn’t he?”

Cassandra spinning from what she just witnessed gasps, “has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?”

“Do you know him very well,” I look down to her distraught face.

“He took over the Seekers of Truth over two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.” Her thin black eyebrows gather in a furrow. 

“Do you think he can be reasoned with?” I venture.

“I hope so, if not him there are surely others in the order who don’t feel as he does,” her face relaxes, “either way we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

As we head back toward the gate something whirs by my ear, the familiar sound of an arrow, so close that if I had had a full horn it would have stuck in.  It lands in the ground just feet ahead of me, Cassandra exclaims in animated surprise, “What’s that an arrow with a message?!?!” I kneel down to pull the arrow from the stone ground, tied with yarn around its shaft is a crumpled piece of paper.  The lettering is large and flowy, the border lined with doodles, almost as though a child wrote it but got bored during lessons and then adorned the edges with swirls.

 

“people say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone.

There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and ‘round the café, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords.

Friends of red jenny”

 

On the back is a smudged drawing of the location, but I can’t make it out.

  
“Odd,” I mutter searching the scaffolding for the archer, but can find no one. 


	7. In the Market for Too Many Breeches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest for Red Jenny concludes

**Chapter 7: In the Market for Too Many Breeches**

 

 **“** _Ladies and gentlemen please_ _  
__Would you bring your attention to me?_ _  
__For a feast for your eyes to see_ _  
___An explosion of catastrophe”

_ -Saliva _

 

“I remember hearing rumor of the friends of Red Jenny during one of my mercenary jobs, we were hired to walk the grounds for this noble who believed someone was going to kill him, in the end it ended up that the lights all went out and in the dark he was pied in the face during one of his banquets. The servants whispered, “it was Red Jenny” as they scurried off toward the kitchens,” I recall still holding the mysterious note. 

“After that did the noble forbid pie in his house?” Varric playfully questions.  

I pass the letter around, “If these friends can help navigate the nobility of Val Royeaux it could benefit the Inquisition.”

“I’m not sure this isn’t nonsense,” Cassandra argues.

“It most certainly is Seeker,” Varric smiles, “but if someone is out for our Herald here, we might want to consider it.”

“I agree with Cassandra, this errand is foolish,” Solas side glances me.

I nod, “It won’t take long, if this “baddie” is after me it could put you all in danger, best case scenario it’s nothing.”

Cassandra sighs but follows beside me nonetheless.

I walk to the docks looking for the first clue.  The fog is just lifting as it rolls over the watery horizon.  Orlais never misses an opportunity to adorn everything, the railings on the harbor are solid marble.  Large statues of Andraste can be seen at the opening of the bay, even from here.  Ornate boats bob in the water as the sun dances off the gold threads in the canvases that cover their tops. Despite the beauty of the sea it smells of salt and rotting fish, as a painting this would be breathtaking, smelling it is breath holding.  I venture around the perimeter, rifling through some barrels along the docks, then I see it, tangled in a net, a red handkerchief.  It’s old and ragged as though it belonged to someone who had cried in it many times but had nothing else to use for their tears over the years.  It smells of stale salt and kitchen herbs. Folded inside is a key, with a small piece of parchment. Someone had hastily scrawled the words, “key lifted from drunk swearing about herald. Don’t know what door. I’m out, my debt is paid.”

Again, odd.

“Do we really need to bother with this?” Solas asks annoyed.

“Where’s your sense of adventure Chuckles?” Varric retorts.

“Let’s just move on,” Cassandra grumbles, “what is the next clue?” 

“The next clue leads to the café.” I respond. 

The “Le Masque Du Lion” is a quaint establishment, tables with people in masks and feathers and more types of fabric then I can name sit eating cheese and wine.  A taxidermy dragon head is mounted on the wall by the door, under it a plaque reads “the head of Madame Snappy-Snips.” A delicate bard stands aside playing the lute and singing operatic songs in Orlesian.  Although I don’t understand the language the words roll in the most pleasant way and I stop just a moment to soak in the music.  I glance around the tables trying not to draw attention from those sitting at them when I catch the sight of red peeking out from under a table leg. I awkwardly lean down and lift the table to snatch it up and walk briskly away, trying not to think of the expression on the face of the fellow sitting at the table.  His yellow mask hides his face but I know he can’t be unaffected by the giant horned man that lifted his table an inch then silently walked off. 

At the pool at the stairs across the café I examine my find.  It appears to be a stable report, with simple script in red paint on the back that reads, “thank you friends for helping good lady Keris, Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit.”

“What does this mean?” Cassandra looks at the paper over my elbow, her eyes are alert with interest, she’s actually starting to enjoy this scavenger hunt.

I smile down at her, “Hopefully the third clue has more information.”

As I head toward the upper levels of the market a young mage waves in my direction, Cassandra touches my arm, “I believe that messenger is trying to get your attention.” 

I face the young lad as he passes a note into my hands asking, “you are the Herald of Andraste are you not? I have an invitation for you.”

The notes is thick black parchment with gold writing, it smells of perfume.  In well written script letters it reads:

 

“You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. 

Yours, 

Vivienne De Fer 

First Enchanter of Montsimmard 

Enchanter to the Imperial Court”

 

“What would an enchanter of the circle want with me,” I say aloud not intending to receive a reply.

“Did you just get invited to a party?” Varric has his usual smile.

“I think I just did…”

“We should give this to Josephine,” Cassandra suggests, “she can navigate this.”

“Let’s find this final clue and be on our way,” Solas urges impatiently. 

The upper level of the market is a shade brighter, the sun has painted the buildings with its faded light more than the structures below, the gradient is more appealing than the vibrant even coat that was intended.  We pass doors upon doors looking for the third clue.  About to give up and head back to the lower level I finally see it from the corner of my eye, red cloth peeking out of a flower pot on the edge of a balcony. I dig it out from its lose grave and shake off the soil. It’s a sock, slightly pungent from being worn, I reluctantly pull a scrap of parchment from the toe. I don’t know where it was torn from just that it was ornate and probably parchment used by a noble. In metallic red lettering is printed:

“….and we are to obey well. We meet at three bells to discuss how best to serve the new way.” 

Below the words scrawled in a thin lettering is “herald go at time. Praise andrast.”

All three clues together reveal a time, path and key to a location.  I unfold my map of Val Royeaux and trace my finger over the roads.

“I believe it is here,” Cassandra taps my map.

It’s a remote building in a back alley way of the city, my assumption is the key will open the gate and the meeting is at 3 am.  

Solas looks to the sun then sighs, “It’s only 5…”

“Shall we shop then?” Varric smiles. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Although unintended we browse the shops in the market to kill time. My ram leather tunic is torn from the abomination in the Mages’ cave.  Whether or not I can find a new one here I’m not sure, it’s not like these townsfolk are concerned with functionality in the least but I can look.  The first merchant we visit complains heavily about the distress the Templar Mage war causes everyone, but he nonetheless allows me to browse his wares.  Mostly staves and robes.  Any of these robes would come to my knees if I’m lucky. I look over at Solas to see if anything here would be useful to him but he has a far long gaze into somewhere that isn’t here, so I move onto a promising weaponsmith. His wares are very well built, most of his merchandise imported from all over Thedas, but everything’s too rich for my taste.  I came into this Inquisition with little gold, my job at the conclave was supposed to replenish my savings. For a moment I wonder if the Trevallyans blame me for failing. Either way the only money I have is what I managed to barter in found goods at Haven.  Dealing with Segrit was unavoidable, he seemed opposed to dealing with non humans, Herald or not he wasn’t going to give me a fair price on anything, so what little I did sell to him yielded few returns.  I idly run my hands over some of his bows, many ornate like the capital, for noble tournaments no doubt. In Orlais Qunari are valued for intimidation, my last job in the capital involved protecting a young noblewoman from assassination because she had slept with an elf from the stables the night before her wedding. She was to wed a duke she had never met.  The scandal was a hit to his honor and apparently invoked the right for him to hire the crows to kill her for it.  She finally worked things out with her fiancé and he called off the contract, but not before I had to push a young assassin out the window of her bedchamber tower, I don’t think he expected an oxman to be in her room. I prod at the merchant's armor, this selection will not suit me. I move to some of the outer stalls to look for materials, I’m accustomed to making my own clothes, if I could just find some great bear leather.  

The next merchant is a man in a mustard yellow mask with feathers out the top and a matching color tunic over his well fitted suit.  In his bins are jewels, some belts and a lot of small glass figurines of animals.  Even if I had been interested none of his bracelets would fit my wrist. My eyes drift to Cassandra. She pokes around the jewels with disinterested fingers then looks back over at the weapon smith.  Of course she would prefer weapons over finery. I cannot hide my smile, she looks back at me and wrinkles her nose slightly. I blush embarrassed that she caught me gandorring her. I politely nod at the merchant then move away from his table.  

The final merchant we visit in the square is a woman, I can only see a small horizontal section of her face, she has thick ruffles about her neck and a floor length flowy gown. Her mask is bronze and only her eyes are visible.  A large brimmed blue hat with gaudy flowers and feathers busting out of the top completes her look.

She has a delicate voice with a thick Orlesian accent, “excuse me but is what they are saying real, the Inquisition’s going to fix the hole in the sky?”

I smile politely, the masks are unsettling, “That’s what we’re attempting yes.”

“Nobody is doing anything, the Chantry is useless and the Templars gone, your Inquisition will need food…I can help.” Her eyes are hazel but I can discern nothing else from her covered face.

Cassandra is surprised but accepting as she asks, “you want to help the Inquisition?”

“Never been part of something this big before, but…if your Inquisition’s going to seal the sky I want to help.” She twirls subtly in her skirt, a small wave of fabric kisses the ground at her feet.

I look to my side, “what do you think Cassandra?”

“I think the woman is asking you and not me,” she replies flatly.

“But he is-“ the feathers on her hat bounce as she speaks.

“The Herald of Andraste yes,” Cassandra’s eyes are on mine, “Haven is a mess, but we won’t turn away anyone willing to help. Invite her, if it pleases you.”

“Head to Haven then,” I encourage, “we need good people.”

“I don’t know if I’m that but it would be nice to see. Thank you.” She nods, the feathers bobbing. 

As we circle back by the main gate an elf in deep blue robes with short jet black hair appears from the shadows, “If I might have a moment of your time?” she carries a diluted Orlesian accent and her voice is like whimsical salted butter.

Cassandra starts in disbelief, “Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Solas steps forward his eyes hard on her face, “leader of the mage rebellion? Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

Her skin is pale and her eyes emerald, “I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” her face set in intrigued doubt, “If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

“Does that mean the mages will help us?” I ask cautiously. I wonder if she saw our welcome by the Templars.

“We are willing to discuss it at least, consider this an invitation to Redcliffe; come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir my lord Herald,” she gracefully retreats back into the shadows of the market. 

 

One thing about Val Royeaux hasn't changed: it is never dull.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After a couple hours in the bowels of the city we rest in an alleyway just blocks from the meeting place Red Jenny indicated.  

“Looks like dried nug and limp carrots are on tonight’s menu,” Varric pulls them out from his pack and distributes them amongst us. We eat in silence. 

Cassandra doesn’t seem hungry.  Her mind is likely on her lord seeker.  It’s not often when a trusted mentor changes personalities. Despite her harsh exterior I sense she is troubled. With Varric fussing with the food and Solas taking a nap, or meditating, I can’t really tell, I take the opportunity to move closer to her.  She doesn’t appear bothered by my presence as we sit leaning our backs on the stone wall while she picks at her food.  There’s still an hour or so before the rumored meeting is to take place. We have only the candles of the building to light us, but the dark is comforting after all the business of the city market.  I trace my fingers over the seeker symbol on her shield that sits against the wall between us, the metal is rough where she has clashed with weapons. Feeling the splintered metal I am thankful it offers such protection.   

“Lucian was not himself,” she says quietly, as if she knew my question before I could ask it. She watches my idle fingers tracing her shield.  

“I wish I had an answer,” I console as I drop my hand back into my lap, “I hope we have the chance to meet with him again. Maybe he can explain.”

“We shall see,” she tears a piece of nug and fiddles with it, “Leliana keeps these as pets.”

“Nugs?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I forget the absurd name she calls it, Smookles, Spekles...but she delights in them.  Her first was a gift from the hero of Ferelden.”

“The grey warden that defeated the blight ten years ago?” I remember my eyes drifting to the sky to admire the stars.

“Yes, Leliana knew her, she was a circle mage, originally from Denerim’s alienage before she was a grey warden.”

“An elven mage, the hero of Ferelden?” I cast my gaze back to her, her eyes are on mine and the steady eye contact makes me nervous but I cannot look away,  “Maybe I-we have a chance then?” I force a smile at the corner of my mouth.

“I believe we do. We must try.” She manages a tired grin in return.  

“You are strong Cassandra, your Inquisition won’t fail.” I look to my hands and pick at my carrot, “I regret that I ended up with the mark.” My eyes trace my left palm and I worry that I sound pitiful, but I continue honestly, “I mean it’s not easy for you with a Qunari as your Herald is it?”

She looks at me in earnest silence, her expression is sincere, “What if the Maker chose you because you are Qunari, too often we let differences separate us, the Maker doesn’t just care for humans, He cares for us all. This could be his way of proving it, and it's not just my Inquisition, Herald.” 

I wish I could believe her. I want to ask her so many questions but they all jumble into a nervous ball in the back of my throat. “I wish you would call me Vane,” I sigh. Her expression is thoughtful, as if she is considering my request but unsure of how to proceed. Uncomfortable I guide the subject elsewhere, “does Leliana have her pet with her in Haven?”

“No, I believe she left it in the care of a friend, while we traveled to the Conclave. She misses it, but she does have her birds.” She takes a small bite of her carrot.

“I had a falcon once when I was young,” her eyebrow tilts as I continue, “I raised him from a hatchling to help me scout. He wasn’t as well behaved as Leliana’s birds. He’d perch on my horn and screech at folks, sometimes even throw seeds. I called him Kost.” 

She tilts her head in interest, “Kost?”

“I know very little Qunlat but its closest meaning is “peace.” The name was unfitting as he would squawk constantly and more than a few times I had to camp by myself so the company could get some sleep.” I can’t help but smile remembering him tethered to his post making obnoxious noises and puffing out his feathers, “I was the only one that got along with him, he was…...my best friend.” I must sound really pathetic to her. My expression changes to somber regret.

She asks gently, “what became of Kost?” 

I’m silent for a moment while I try to find the best way to retell the story, “On one particular mission the enemy figured out I used birds, when they realized I was using a Falcon to send messages… they eliminated the threat,” I feel a lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” she casts her eyes down breaking her remaining carrot.

“No, I brought him up…it may seem silly, he was mean and unruly but we had a bond... I loved him,” I can’t believe I just admitted that, I was 15 at the time, it was just a bird she must think I’m ridiculous. I brave a look at her, she doesn’t show disgust as I expected as our eyes lock. Instead I’m met with sympathy and acceptance. My heart quickens, “are you-“ I lose my nerve and quickly point to the rest of her nug, “…are you going to eat that?”

She smiles, “no,” and hands it to me, “ I don’t want it, it’s too tough for me.”

I take a breath to speak but am interrupted by the clock chiming.

 

Dong.

 

We both scurry to stand up.

 

Dong.

 

Solas opens his eyes.

 

Dong.

 

“That’s our que!” Varric spins on his heel and loads a bolt into Bianca.  

After a few minutes I use the key to open the blue doors leading into a private alley way.  I push open the door and am met with a fireball whirling inches past my head.  I easily dodge the second one that follows. An Orlesian noble in heeled boots and a puffy hat over a gold mask stands before me, “Herald of Andraste!” he places one foot across the other standing like a dancer, his hands on his hips, “how much did you expend to discover me?” He straightens his back and jerks his head in a nod, the jewels on his mask sparkle in the torchlight, “it must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.”  

“I don’t know who you are….” I respond dumbfounded as I walk into the courtyard, Cassandra has her hand on her hilt behind me.

He spins on his heel and bends his knees in a fencer stance with his hands still on his hips, “you don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident.” In a fluid motion he swipes his foot back across his other leg and stands like he has to pee then throws his jeweled gloved hands in the air shaking his head, “my efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

To my left an ornate guard clambers through the walkway and falls to the ground.  Behind him is a scrawny elf wearing a torn tunic of clashing faded red and gold. Her pants are gold and brown plaid weave and end at her calves.  She pulls back an arrow from a very crude wooden bow and exclaims in a nasally strained voice through puffy lips, “just say what.”

The noble turns to her and grunts, “what is the mean-“ but before he can finish his sentence she plummets the arrow right into the eye slot of his golden mask. He gurgles and falls to the ground, blood staining his adorned silk shirt.

She shrugs her arms back and makes a face of disgust, the movement bounces her very unevenly cut straw blonde hair, “Ugh.” She walks over to the dead noble, “Squishy one,” she looks to me, “but you heard me right? ‘just say what.’ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.”  She steps on his hand and kneels down for her arrow, “blah blah blah, obey me,” she jerks her arrow out and inspects it, “arrow to the face.” She returns the arrow to her quiver. She kicks his leg out of the way with her foot and stands to face me, “so you followed the notes well enough,” her blue eyes look me up and down, “Glad to see you’re…”she tilts her head, “you’re big, real big. From the North yea? Rivain or…..North.” She giggles, “I mean it’s all good innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy.”

“What just happened?” I ask dazed. She looks at me with silent anticipation. I shrug, “sure why not? I Glow. What’s going on?”

She shuffles her plain black shoed foot and looks down at the dead noble, a pool of blood around his head, “no idea, I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people? Elves?”

She laughs and animates her hands with her speech, “no people people. Name’s Sera. This is cover,” she clumsily waves her hands towards some crates, “get round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed,” she lowers her head and voice, “they’ve got no breeches.” She smiles like an unsupervised child in a market full of candy booths.

An arrow flies by my shoulder. Soldiers in nothing but chest armor and plumed hats run down the stairs, “why didn’t you take their weapons??” I exclaim as I draw my bow.  

“Because no breaches!!” she giggles loudly cartwheeling into the hallway evading their attacks. She circles around a crate then jumps backwards onto it simultaneously sending an arrow into the eye of one of the guards. 

There’s only a few and we have no problem defending ourselves.  Once the last soldier falls Sera paces around in a circle, “Friends really came through with that tip. No breeches.” She giggles to herself. She stares at my boots, “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one,” her eyes snap to my face, “I’d like to join.”

“How about we get to know each other first? You know, names and such?” I have no idea what to make of this odd little elf.

“One name. No wait. Two. It’s…well. It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me. Well I’m one of them” she picks at her left sleeve which is rolled up although her other is not, “So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven, brother’s or something. It’s just a name yea? It lets little people, “friends” be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. ‘the Friends of Red Jenny’ are sort of out there. I used them to help you, plus arrows.”

“The Inquisition has spies already, can you add to these professionals?”

She smirks and holds her palms out, “here’s how it is. You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. ‘blah blah i'll crush you. I’ll crush you” she makes kissing noises, “oh crush you” she clears her throat, “then you’ve got cloaks and spy-knives. Like this tit” she gently kicks him, “or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his, little knife. All those secrets and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not all knifey shivedark, all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches, like those guards, I stole their” she giggles, “look do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal, like you?”

“Back there you wanted to know if I glowed, why?”

She shrugs, “that’s what you do innit? You walked out of somewhere and now you glow. Andraste’s Herald. True or not it seemed like the easiest way to know it was you.”

“true or not?”

“Well that’s what they say and all. Look don’t get ahead, yeah? I want to help this…whatever it is, inquisition,” she looks hopeful. 

I look to my companions, their baffled expressions lending no guidance I answer, “Alright Sera,” I hope I don’t regret this, “I can use you and your ‘friends.’”

“Yes!” she shuffles her feet, “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches because I have all these…you have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway, Haven, see you there, Herald. This will be grand!” she smiles and throws a sack over her shoulder, a pant leg dangles from the opening of it as she runs through the gate.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” Cassandra remarks disapprovingly, “let us return to Haven.”


	8. Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from Val Royeaux Vane makes new friends in Haven

**Chapter 8: Strings**

****  
_ Music boxes have within, _ __   
_ melodies they carry with them _ __   
_ once they're open music fills the air. _ __   
_ Every person you have known, _ __   
_ has a song of their own, _ __   
__ once they open up you'll hear what’s there **.** **  
** -Kurt Bestor

 

“Yes?” Leliana asks not looking away from her map as I approach her tent.

“I've been given an offer from a mercenary group, Bull’s Chargers, they invited the Inquisition to do business with them.” I hand her Cremisius’ missive, “I haven’t personally worked with them but they are a well known group, they have information you might want to look at.” The same bird she had out before sits perched on a crate, I pet its head and it caws in pleasure.

She scans over the document, “Tevinter mercenaries forming on the storm coast? There has been word of Warden activity there as well, I’ll have Scout Harding look into it.” Her voice softens as she smiles, “She seems to have a fondness for you.” She adds the paper to her pile of parchments and gracefully turns to me and the bird.

“I like birds,” I smile as the bird hops onto my hand and crawls up my arm to my shoulder. She fluffs her wings out and sits there gently pecking at my horn. Leliana lets out a reserved chuckle. I take my other hand and place it under her belly, she steps onto my finger and I lower her back to the crate, “I should go.” The bird jumps onto Leliana’s glove and opens her wings as I leave.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“The Herald actually invited her here? But she’s so…so untamed”

“Did you see her hair? Do you think she did that on purpose?”

I come up behind two chantry sisters gossiping, “She’s already drinking ale in the pub and it’s only 10am?! I think our Herald might be taking liberties interpreting Andraste’s will.”

They startle as I cough behind them, then I add somewhat mischievously, “morning ladies.”

“My lord Herald, excuse us!” one of them gasps, then looks to the other woman as they both scurry back toward the Chantry.

I resume my course into the tavern where Sera sits at a table laughing holding a pint, she sees me and enthusiastically waves me over. 

“So this is it yea?” she remarks as I sit down at her table, “oh no it’s fine yea? I thought it’d be bigger” she lets out a small rigid laugh, “Ha hear that? I mean the stronghold, but it sounded like” her eyes scan down my chest to the edge of the table in front of my waist, “…well, it’s funny right?” She takes a drink of her ale, it sloshes messily in the cup as she puts it down, “anyway, stopping wars should earn more sovereigns than this. Need things back to normal for coins to be flowing again. Another reason the Mages and Templars need sat down.” She taps the table with her fingers.

“It’s not just a war between those two,” I respond, “this Inquisition was formed to deal with the breach.”

The uneven hair on her freckled forehead bounces as she shakes her head and squints her blue eyes, “yea sure. The sky has a hole in it. But I can’t put an arrow in that. Well I have,” her expression changes to concern, “it doesn’t come down, that’s…weird,” she looks me sternly in the eyes, “and that’s the point, right? It’s weird and right there, but they still want to punch each other. They’re too busy to look up where the real questions are.”

At this moment I actually agree with this person. she’s bizarre but I see a genuine concern in her playful puffy eyes that makes me want to trust her despite her obnoxious behaviors. I grin, “right, they should know it’s a simple job. End all war. Stitch the sky.”

Her lips are flat and eyes penetrating, she searches mine like she’s concentrating on a complicated math problem.

“The easy one first, of course,” I nod, my sarcasm thick.

She bursts into uncontrolled laughter, “you’re daft yeah? Most people get special, they lose their snerk. Can’t see how stupid it all is. I think I like you Lord Herald,” she smiles and swirls her finger in her pint, “maybe you’re a little chosen yeah?”

“I’m ready to give it a shot. That’s all I can ask from anyone else,” I smile.

“I’m in, it’s an investment yeah?” she shifts in her chair and stretches her arms over her head, “better pay off too. Stupid war and…everything. I had things to do!” She downs the rest of her drink, “speaking of doing things, see you later Herald.”

I sit for a moment alone at the table letting my mind wander to the music of the bard. Flissa pauses with a tray, “can I get you anything more?”

“Oh, sorry, no,” I respond setting Sera’s empty cup on her tray. 

“It's lovely isn't it?” She notes her eyes bouncing to the bard.

“Has she been here long?” I ask.

“No, her name’s Maryden, she arrived just before that explosion, was here to play for some nobles I reckon.”

“She's good,” I announce loud against the new silence just as her song ends, my voice carries to the walls and embarrassed I freeze. The brown haired Bard glances to me and grins. With a nod she begins her next song.

“Nightingale's eyes, what secret lies in their worth?” 

I watch mesmerized as her fingers play across the frets. Flissa sets a cup of water before me, “just let me know if you need anything.”

Once her song ends Maryden gravitates toward my table. “Do you mind?” Her eyes set on the seat next to me.

“Oh please,” I pull it out for her. 

She sets her lute against the wall and relaxes in the chair, “so you are the Herald?” She asks with piqued interest, “it'll be a challenge to write songs of you.”

“Oh I can't be in a song!” My face flushes red, “maybe write about the hands of the Divine instead...” 

She giggles, “I meant the song itself would be a challenge, chord structures and melody, the content…” she looks me up and down as though she is deciding how to describe something she wishes to sell to get the best price, “in time that will come.”

Feeling warm under her inspection I look to the table fixing my attention on my untouched water cup, “have you played lute long?”

“Since I was a child,” she answers, “are you musical? You seemed to take added interest in my performance.”

“Oh no not really, I was given a lute as pay for a job once, any sound I made on it came out like a mangled animal at the end of its life. I sold it later and regretted never learning to play.”

“If you feel inclined I could teach you a few things,” she offers kindly. “With you being the Herald and all I wouldn't even charge for lessons, just close the hole in the sky.”

“Actually I would love that.” I smile wide, “Well and closing the sky bit too, I guess I could do that.” 

She smiles, “then it's settled, meet me here tomorrow around sunset and we’ll get started.”

“I hope your ears are ready for it,” I answer apologetically. 

She shakes her head grinning while she reaches for her lute. Returning to her stage she picks a few chords then sings, “once we were in our peace with our lives assured, once we were not afraid of the dark…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The grey warden Leliana mentioned at the last war table meeting is bothering me, if all of them have disappeared why not this one.  What business does he have in the Hinterlands?  Fiona awaits the Inquisition in Redcliffe as well.  The thoughts juggle in my mind as I aimlessly walk to the center fire where there is bound to be dinner.  My stomach grumbles at the sight of ram cooking on the spit at the fire.  

“My Lord,” a timid voice meekly greets me. It belongs to a young elf standing at the fire turning the spit. Her head is bowed and her dark brown eyes on the ground.

“Hello,” I greet her, “that ram looks delicious.”

“forgive me, I-“ she looks at me for an instant then bows her head again.  Her hands shake as she goes to cut some of the meat. She shudders a silent whimper as my hand grazes hers to gently take the knife from her.

“Please, allow me,” I smile warmly down to her and cut a piece for myself, then one for her, “sit with me?” I offer the meat to her.

She timidly takes the food and follows me to a log bench, “please, my lord, shouldn’t you eat in the Chantry?”

“No it’s too stuffy in there and the company is all robes and ceremony,” I tease as I pick my warm ram meat up with my fingers.  It smells delicious and I tear into it mercilessly with my teeth. The elf’s surprised expression causes me to shamefully duck my head down, “oh sorry about my manners,” I offer, “we didn’t have a lot of forks in the Valos.”

She looks to me in confused reverence then turns to gently pick at her own piece of meat, suppressing a grin.

“This is perfect,” I note as I bite into it, “I’ve always preferred meat cooked well done, what about you?”

She hides a giggle with her slender hand over her mouth, “yes, well done is my preference too.” She nibbles on the edge of her slice. 

“Thank you for before, I’m grateful someone was watching over me when I was unconscious.” 

Her freckled face flushes red, “I wasn’t, I wasn’t watching you.”

“Weren’t you the one that brought herbs into my room? That was helping,” I smile and shove the remainder of my food into my mouth. “My name is Vane, what’s yours?” I ask as I step toward the spit for more meat.

“I’m just a servant my lord,” she responds setting the remainder of her piece down on her lap as if she had been engaging in a forbidden act and shouldn’t eat more.

“That may be, but I’m just a mercenary, just a guy, but here we are both in Haven supporting the fight against the sky.  We both serve the Inquisition.  Everyone’s hands count, marked or not.”

She smiles weakly and resumes nibbling her meat.  I return to our log with my second helping.  If permitted I could eat that whole ram.  

“Laera,” she says quietly like a prayer, “my name is Laera, my Lord.”

“Laera? I like it,” I smile and her face flushes red again.  

Cassandra walks with heavy steps up the dirt path her eyes searching. She scans until they rest on me, her apparent target.  When she nears us Laera drops her head in respectful submission, “My Lady Cassandra,” she stirs in her seat to get up.

“It’s alright Laera,” I rise and push my palm down to motion her to remain seated, “excuse me,” I walk a few steps then pause and return to her, “Would you finish this for me?” I hand her the ram and she smiles thinly, bowing her head.

“We need to travel to the Hinterlands to meet with Fiona,” Cassandra says as I catch up with her quick and determined steps, “I have spoken with Josephine and she believes sending the Herald directly as asked is the best way to make official contact with the mages.  I have asked Dennet to ready our horses.” She leads us out of the gates toward the stables.  The horse with black mane and feet Dennet gifted me personally is saddled and tied to the post, next to three smaller horses saddled and ready for travel.  

“Solas and Varric will be traveling with us?” I ask.

“So it would seem,” she replies indifferently.

“I have heard of an Elven ruin near the crossroads that we should investigate,” Solas calls from behind me.  He walks to his horse and mounts it.

Varric close behind him sets his foot in his stirrup, his horse is half the size of mine. “Seeker you can’t leave behind your favorite dwarf,” he muses and winks at her from his saddle.

Her mouth turns down hard in a frown as she grabs the reins of her horse, “Leliana has sent a scout ahead, they will meet us at the gates of Redcliffe.  Come.” She digs her heels into the horse’s side quickening its pace.


	9. The Blackwall Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden Blackwall joins the Inquisition

 

**Chapter 9: The Blackwall Warden**

 

_ “But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do _

_ When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do _

_ And you don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through _

_ Say here I am, on a road again _

_ There I am, up on the stage _

_ Here I go, playing the star again _

_ There I go, turn the page” _

 

  * __Bob Seger__



 

  
  


I pull the reins over the post and tie them tight.  While we traveled I explained Leliana’s concern about the Wardens to Cassandra, and although she wasn’t convinced their disappearance had anything to do with the Divine, couldn’t disregard the value in finding Warden Blackwall. 

“Stay here and rest Dathra,” I whisper to my horse.  Inquisition soldiers will take care of him until we return.  

Cassandra leads her horse next to mine and ties her down, “Let’s find this Warden,” she pulls her shield from the saddle.

We take the familiar canyon path toward the crossroads, more pleasant this time without the bodies of the mages and Templars at war. More people have flocked to the area and the streets are full of soldiers and villagers.  I wave at a familiar shape up the hill watching over the sparring soldiers, “Vale!”

“Thank you for your assistance with the mages and Templars,” his face grateful as we near his camp, “the area is much safer now for travel.” 

“Any news?” I ask over the sounds of sparring soldiers.

“Leliana sent word ahead, some refugees here confirm that a Warden Blackwall is in the area.  Some bandits attacked a few of the farmers, he conscripted some of the young men and is rallying them for a counter attack.  He was last sighted with them up near Lake Luthias.  There is a cabin there I believe he was staying in.  I don’t have much more information than that, Nightingale’s last bird instructed us to focus on the refugees and containing the demons here.  I didn’t realize that the reinforcement she was sending would be the Herald himself.”

“I’ll take it from here Vale,” I say as I look over to the West.  Lake Luthias sits atop the basin, it is only a few miles from here. 

We tread the perimeter of the canyon wall until an opening emerges and I lead us upwards through a narrow path to the Lake.  The air is filled with the faint scent of fish and wet wood.  Several rams scurry at the sight of us.  “Hey Varric?” I smile over my shoulder at him, “I bet these refugees could use some more meat, what do you think?” I draw Ash’Eva.

“You’re on,” he grins wide and briskly pulls Bianca from his back. He jolts off to the left while I sprint to the right.  The rams are circling around the edge of the lake as Varric and I corral them until they are cornered at the canyon wall. I pull back an arrow.  The string leaves my fingers just as I hear Bianca’s gears groan. 

“That’s one for me!” Varric shouts as a bolt sticks right in the neck of the ram.  

Seconds later my arrow pierces the chest of the second ram, blood streaks down its white wool as it circles to the ground.  I dash forward just as its legs kick the air. “thank you,” I whisper as I take my dagger and slice through its throat.  I turn to stand, holding the ram by the horns I throw it onto my shoulder then pick up Varric’s and hurl it onto my other shoulder.  Cassandra watches me, her expression is disapproving, but then her eyebrows relax as she smiles at the corner of her mouth.

“The refugees will be thankful I am sure,” she says then her face goes stern as she gazes past me, “I believe that is our Warden.” 

I follow her line of sight across the small lake, its clear waters shining in the sun. A small log cabin sits opposite the dock where an armored man demonstrates stances to 3 farmers.  They each hold a sword and small buckler.  Still carrying the rams I start my way straight through the lake, the water is shallow and comes to my calves.  I look back to see Cassandra stepping after me and Solas taking the effort to walk the short perimeter to avoid walking into the lake.  

“Varric I’m going to leave these in your care,” I step back toward the shore and lay the rams down by a large rock.

He nods, “not really a party I want to go to anyway.” His smile evidence he isn’t hurt by staying behind.

By now Solas has made his way around the shoreline and is waiting patiently for us.  I step back into the lake, “want me to carry you?” I gently tease Cassandra as I close in behind her, the water now above her knees. 

She looks back at me angrily, we are close enough that in one more step and I would bump into her. Her face flushes, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scowls and quickens her steps. I stifle a laugh and match pace beside her.

The lake teeters off into a waterfall to my right, the water rushes loudly over the rocks. The sun reflects off the surface warming my face.  As light as my skin is I still don’t burn easily in the sun, one of the few things I appreciate about being Qunari. Ahead the faces of the farmers are clear, they stand awkward watching the armored man pace and shout instructions.  His voice is low and solid, “remember they brought the fight to you,” he pushes his sword in the air, “keep focused. They’ll know what it means.” His accent sounds free marcher.  His hair is dark black and wild with an equally dark and wild beard covering his weathered face.  He speaks to them with authority, as though he were a seasoned general leading troops, “Remember how to carry your shields, you’re not hiding you’re holding. Otherwise it’s useless.” He turns to face his wide eyed recruits, scared young men in tattered clothes.

“Blackwall?” I shout over the rushing waves. I step onto the shore shaking water off my boots and shout louder, “Warden Blackwall?”

He abruptly trudges through the farmers toward me, “you’re not- How do you know my name? Who sent-” he pulls his shield over my shoulder and grunts as an arrow sticks in the wood, the farmers behind him pull their shields up and shout in timid battle cries. “That’s it,” his thick eyebrows furrow, “Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first!” He sprints ahead of the farmers taking a stance as four bandits charge the cabin.  He throws his sword ahead of him triumphantly toward the screaming attackers, “Conscripts! Here they come!”

The farmers stagger backwards in fear, Cassandra doesn’t hesitate and runs in front of me to Blackwall’s side forming a two person shield wall. I draw my bow and take out the bandit in the front with a shot to the forehead.  

“Hold the wall!” Blackwall shouts, “Make them come to me!” the farmers lock their shields together in a wall and step forward.  

“You’re dead Bastard! DEAD.” Screams one of the bandits as he swings a greatsword down on Blackwall.  He blocks it with his shield and drives his sword through the guy’s arm.

“I wasn’t here to fight! Stop and think,” Blackwall shouts as he swings his sword over his head and into the side of his opponent.  

Another bandit locks his sword hilt on Blackwall’s shield and pulls it down, I shoot the bandit in the head before he can drive his sword over his head.  Freed from the threat the warden drops his gear and picks up the greatsword on the ground. With both hands he swings it over his head and powerfully slices through the shoulder of the last bandit.  Cassandra seeing the threat contained relaxes her shoulders. I suppress a small smile when I look at her, she had retreated to protect the farmers. With the bandits dealt with Blackwall thrusts the greatsword into the dirt and kneels over the body of the bandit leader, “Sorry Bastards” he mutters at the corpse.  His light Hazel eyes are tired as they look over the body.  He takes a deep breath then stands to face the farmers, “Good work, conscripts, even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve…well, thieves are made, not born,” he throws his hand in the direction the bandits attacked from, “Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

The farmers smile at each other and trot back toward the crossroads.  Blackwall stands silent in contemplation, the wind blowing his hair and beard. The sword vertical in the ground in front of him.  His armor is adorned with the wings of the grey wardens, although I've never met a warden the armor is vaguely familiar. His olive padded gambeson is thick, it makes him look much bigger than he is, and I expect he is very warm even in the cool breeze from the lake. Finally he turns to me, “You’re no farmer,” his voice is low and gruff, “why do you know my name? Who sent you?” His tone defensive. 

“I’m here investigating Grey Wardens for the Inquisition,” his shoulders relax at my response, “We’re seeing if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

He shuffles to the side as he considers my words, his worn dirt encrusted boots pushing down calf length grass as he steps, “Maker’s balls,” he swears to the ground, “the Wardens and the Divine?” he stalls to search my face then continues pacing slowly, “That can’t-“ He pauses again in front of me, the wind blows locks of his dark hair across his forehead, “no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.” His leather gloves creak as he closes his hands at his sides, “first off. I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten,“ he shakes his head, “But one thing I’ll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

I shrug, “I’m not here to accuse. Not yet, I just need some information. I’ve found only you. Where are the rest?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming,” he shifts his weight from one foot to another and his face is relaxed in reverence, “Treaties give Warden the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me.” I wasn’t particularly looking for an explanation of what we walked up on, but his face shows relief in his confession. He takes a breath then bows his head as though praying, “Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

“So, do you have any idea where the other Wardens could have gone?” I ask.

He tilts his head, his beard hits the top of his leather collar as he speaks, “Maybe they returned to our stronghold at Wesshaupt? That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north. I don’t really know. Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once, let alone where they’d disappear to.”

“Why haven’t you gone missing like the rest of them?” it is still strange to me that there is only one Grey Warden in all Orlais and Ferelden who isn’t missing. 

“Well, maybe I was going to,” he responds flatly, “Or maybe there’s a new directive but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months. Years.”

Leliana will be disappointed, this guy doesn’t know anymore than she does, “It’s been a pleasure Warden Blackwall, but this didn’t help at all,” I excuse myself and walk past him toward Cassandra, “we still need to get those rams back to the crossroads.” 

“Inquisition…agent, did you say? Hold a moment?” his request pulls me to a stop. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved,” his furrowed eyebrows relax, “If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?” I respond more sarcastic than I intended.  

His eyebrows twist into an authentic plea, “Save the fucking world if pressed. Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is. And like I said, there are treaties. Maybe this isn’t a blight. But it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people.”

Maybe Leliana can dig more out of him if he comes to Haven, “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.” 

“Good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This warden walks with the Inquisition,” he walks over to a chest by the cabin and takes out a pack, as if it was prepared for a quick extract, and his shield and sword from the ground.   

“If you are done with your party I have a couple rams here that are anxious for a warm bath!” Varric shouts from across the lake.

“that is Varric,” I point to the dwarf waving across the lake, “these are my friends Solas and Seeker Pentaghast.” I’m not sure if she would be comfortable with me introducing her by her first name.

“A pleasure,” he nods at Solas, “my lady,” he bows his head graciously toward Cassandra.  I feel a small prick of jealousy as I glance at Cassandra for her reaction. I’m relieved when she appears indifferent as she nods her head in polite response.

“Let’s get these rams to the crossroads,” I say heading back across the lake. 


	10. Serpents in Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small tidbit about Vane in Redcliffe controlled by a Tevinter Magister.

**Chapter 10: Serpents in Redcliffe**

 

My perilous fate

I see no escape as serpents lay siege

To my country estate

The Devil must have opened up hell's gates

and called up millions of snakes

To take me from this place

-The Aquabats

  
  


I look down at the paper in my hand and unfold it to read the words scribbled in gold ink:

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.”

Confused I look at Cassandra. She peers at the note and asks, “Did the Magister’s son give you that? Why would he help you?”

“We’ll be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here,” I assure her but she doesn’t look convinced. 

I turn toward the door and collide with a young man in royal blue robes, “I am sorry!” I offer but as he looks up at me his face is complacent.

“Magister Alexius does not approve of those without magic, like you and me.” His words are monotone and low, the speaking rhythm of the Tranquil, “You may not wish to stay long. Many villagers have already left to escape his ire.” He folds his arms.

“What does the magister have against you?” I inquire.

“He does not like to be reminded of what mages can become. He says all Tranquill must leave Redcliffe, but who would take us in?”

I find it unsettling how unanimated he is as he speaks about being thrown out.  I did wonder what became of the Tranquil when the Circles fell, I assumed they took no side in the war or did anything to make the fighting worse. Surely they would not be seen as threats to either the Templars or the Mages. 

“How long have the Tevinters been here?” I probe, the lack of recognition from Fiona still bothering me.

“Magister Alexius arrived at nightfall, two days after we retreated from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He forced anyone without magic out of the castle, save those he required to serve him. Even the Arl was sent away.”

I turn to Cassandra my voice unsettled, “There is something very wrong about all this.” 

She nods in agreeance, “the Arl did not abandon Redcliffe when it faced the darkspawn, why would he now?”

I return my attention to the Tranquil and nod politely,  “Farewell then.” 

“One moment, you are a member of the Inquisition are you not?” I pause to answer him but he continues, “I am an alchemist. You must require potions. If the magister will not have me here, perhaps I can offer my services.” He relays his request like a statement. 

I don’t see the harm in having an alchemist with us, “We would be delighted to have you working for the Inquisition.”

“Thank you,” he replies flatly, “While one lives, it is good to believe there is still a use for one’s talents. I am called Clarence.”

“Follow the road south to the crossroads and our people will protect you there,” Cassandra assures him. 

“Shall we see what fun things are waiting for us in the Chantry?” Varric chimes.

The bartender passes us, she is skillfully balancing her tray of drinks, as she looks to me her red hair billows over her bare shoulders, “take care Herald,” she offers her green eyes shining, “something hasn’t felt right around here since the Arl left. And that magister is a bit creepy.”

“I’ll do what I can,” I assure her. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The fresh breeze outside the Chantry doors is a welcome change from the heavy air inside.

“This whole business is distasteful. Perhaps we are better off pursuing the Templars instead,” Cassandra’s words are strained with frustration.  

“I think Felix and Dorian are genuine in their information, but I’m not certain about combating…... time magic,” I confess as we make our way through Redcliffe.

“At least we got that rift in the Chantry sealed, can you imagine how service would have gone tomorrow?” Varric adds quickening his pace to walk beside me, I realize how fast I am going and slow down.

“Maybe Leliana can find more information on the cult this Dorian mentioned?” I note leading us down the stairs. 

“We should discuss this back at Haven,” Cassandra replies cautiously looking about. 

As we cross through the town square Blackwall mentions, “I think the refugees at the crossroads could benefit from a healer.” As we walk down the stone path past the tavern he looks across the crowds of robes, “there may be one here?”

“Excuse me,” I venture toward a small group of robed figures gathered at the base of the griffin statue in the square.  They turn to look up at me with anticipation, “can you direct me to your town healer?”

One of them smiles smugly, “I’m gifted with healing magic, but would you have the services of an apostate, Oxman?” his friends giggle behind him, he can’t be more than 18.  Cassandra’s shoulders stiffen, she doesn’t care for his arrogant attitude. 

“I’m requesting aid for the refugees at the crossroads, this war has left innocents in its wake that could use help,” I respond evenly, ignoring his sly look.

He lets out a short forced laugh, “there is nobody innocent in this war.  Those that watch us get caged are as guilty as the Templars, we are oppressed and they stand by and do nothing. Locked in our tower we don’t affect their lives, so they don’t care. I won’t heal any of them.” He snickers and turns back to his friends for support in his bold talk. They jeer in encouragement. 

Cassandra makes a noise in her throat, before she can say anything Blackwall calmly steps forward and looks at the young Mage intently with his tired eyes, “whether someone is innocent or not isn’t in question here. People are dying in the wake of the Mage and Templar actions, most don’t know they can do anything about it, they don’t understand your plight so they separate themselves from it, but you, you can heal and yet you withhold that in order to punish the ignorant. Can’t you see how you are contradictory in your statement. They do nothing, so you do nothing, yet you have the power to help and know it, but they don’t. How are you superior? Doesn’t this make your actions worse?” the young Mage looks defensive but then drops his head as Blackwall’s words sink in. The Warden softens his eyes as he reassures, “it's not always easy to look past yourself and do the right thing.”

“I-there is an Elven potions maker up that path.  With the Magister here I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” I nod. These Mages left one cage only to end up right into another.  

            The elven healer is a delicate woman within a house of shelves of bottles. Her earthy den smells of strong poultices. 

“Too many people dying for want of simple herbs,” she sighs as she shuffles bottles on the shelf, “my apologies,” she faces me as i walk into the doorway, “Can I help you?”

“There are refugees at the crossroads who would benefit from a healer,” i venture pushing my arm out to catch a bottle about to fall from the shelf from her jostling. 

“Of course they would. Those attacks by the Templars have endangered countless innocent lives,” she rubs her hands on her sides, “but if i go to the crossroads to help, I might end up in danger myself. I doubt those refugees would risk their lives for a ‘knife-ear.’ Why should i risk mine for them?”

“The Inquisition honors the efforts of all who are willing to help in these dark times,” Cassandra responds confidently, “Help the refugees and we will ensure that you are protected...and respected.”

         “It's true,” I reassure, “I mean they've accepted a Qunari as their Herald. We can make sure you make it there safe.”

“Alright. If the the Inquisition soldiers are there, I might be safer regardless. Just give me a moment to gather my things,” she sifts to the back of the house.

“Do you suppose Chuckles found his Elf thing and made it back to the crossroads?” Varric smiles. 


	11. The Cult of Dwarfson's Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vane receives intel a group is worshiping the breach and goes to investigate.

**Chapter 11: the Cult of Dwarfson's Pass**

 

_ “Best of cruel intentions _ __   
_ Finding what they fail to mention _ __   
_ No truth, all pretension _ __   
_ Raise your hand to give attention _ __   
_ You'd give it, We'd take it _ __   
_ You'd build it,We'd break it _ _   
_ __ You silently erase it”

 

_ -The Birthday Massacre _

  
  
  


Corporal Vale greets me as we walk into his camp, “I'm sorry to bother you with this Herald, but there's a... group that's taken to the hills of Dwarfson's pass east of here, that... worships the rift. I thought nothing of it but I had a scout report that a rift may have opened inside the stronghold they've taken to living in. More and more refugees are flocking there. You may not have time to worry about this, but I just thought if you can close the rift maybe you could save a lot of desperate lives.”

“I will go there as soon as I can,” I look over at Cassandra, I worry this delay in returning to Haven may irritate her but she nods in approval. 

“I suppose it only natural that some would turn to worshiping the breach,” Solas remarks flatly as he quietly walks up beside me, “If only in hopes of appeasing it.”

“Did you find your toys chuckles?” Varric asks earnestly. 

“There was an Elven artifact yes, I believe there are more to be found. If we locate and activate them it will help to strengthen the veil,” he replies. 

“That can only help,” Blackwall nods.

“Were you successful meeting with the Mages?” Solas ignores the warden and tilts his head at me in curiosity. 

“Well yes and no,” I stall to find the best way to fill him in.

“The Mages are in bed with Tevinter and the Magister controlling their new leash is a crazy cultist that used time magic to get there before us, he's feigning an alliance in order to hand the Herald to his cult leader that's obsessed with him or at least the glowing hand bit. Well that's the story according to his infirm son and a flashy Magister pariah that used to be his apprentice. At all angles it doesn't look promising,” Varric narrates.

“Time magic? If true it is most definitely dangerous. The Mages deserve better than slavery to Tevinter,” his eyebrows furrow into reserved distress. 

“Let us deal with the rift here first,” Cassandra urges.

“Yes one cult at a time!” Varric chimes. 

As we head out toward the east road an elderly Elven man calls after us, “excuse me?” I stop and turn to him, “can you help my wife!”

Confused I ask, “what's wrong with your wife?”

“She can’t breathe, like cobwebs in her lungs, my son Handel makes a potion but he has left to join that cult in the hills, I hoped maybe since you were heading that way?” His face is creased in worry.

“I will find him,” I promise and his features relax.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is a decent spot to camp,” Varric notes as we enter into a small clearing between some crumbling ruins along the hills just half a mile from the worried Inquisition scout. The only way in and out is through a chokehold on either end, we would be safe sleeping here. 

The sun has disappeared behind the hill and a stout chill is in the air. “I'll get some wood for the fire,” Blackwall offers and sets his shield, sword and pack against the cavern stone wall. 

Cassandra stabs her sword in the ground and sets her shield against it, then begins to undo the leather straps of her armor. I bounce my eyes away as the memory of undoing those same straps brushes my cheeks in red. 

Solas touches his hand to the stone brick remains of the wall and slowly walks the perimeter, “I wonder what memories this place holds?” He ponders aloud with a far off glance to the earth under his hand.

“What's on the menu?” Varric asks ignoring the Elf, “anyone got anything decent to drink?”

Cassandra throws her waterskin at him without looking away from unstrapping her greaves.

“Never thought I'd miss the swill at the Hanged Man,” he teases as he holds the skin up to his mouth. 

Cassandra lets out a disgusted noise as she tosses her armor next to her shield.  

“What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?” Blackwall playfully asks Varric, returning to camp with his arms full of sticks. 

“Absolutely, I think they added an extra element of Lowtown desperation to enhance the flavor.”

Blackwall chuckles as he places the sticks in a pyramid, “anyone carrying a flint?”

“Allow me,” Solas steps gracefully to the fire pit and hovers his palm over the top. He closes his eyes as small sparks flutter inside the base of the pyramid until the sticks catch fire. 

“Thanks Solas,” I place my hands out to warm them. 

“Ram and carrot soup,” Cassandra mutters as she joins our circle. She sits between Blackwall and Solas and produces a small bundle of carrots and a few chunks of dried ram meat from her pack.

Solas nods and pulls the pot strapped on his bag. Blackwall gets up to fetch his waterskin to fill it. Cassandra shifts so she sits cross legged and begins breaking the tops off the carrots with her hands. I scooch into the space left by Blackwall and reach into her lap to retrieve a carrot. Her fierce eyes snap up to me and I get the unmistakable impression I crossed a boundary. 

“Forgive me,” I say quietly, “I only meant to help….with the carrots.”

She grunts in disapproval lowering her eyes back to the remaining orange shafts and continues to break them with more ferocity than before. 

“Might I offer you my knife, My Lady,” Blackwall’s voice is gentle and genuine as he pulls a small hunting knife from his boot, offering it handle out toward her.

“Thank you,” she answers politely as she accepts it. She wipes it clean on her pants then proceeds to slice the carrots into little short cylinders.

“I'm so glad I decided to bring this,” Varric rifles through his bag then produces a small metal box, “herbs fresh from Denerim, well as fresh as they can be anyways,” he smiles and holds it up for us to see, “might help us down that tasteless stew.” He opens the box and throws a few pinches into the near boiling pot, “no offense to your cooking Seeker.”

She sneers at him as she tosses the rest of her chopped carrots in and looks respectfully at Blackwall, “I am pleased you joined us Warden Blackwall.”

Blackwall replies with a small smile, “The honor is mine, Lady Seeker.” He stirs the stew. 

“We need strong, righteous warriors-now more than ever,” she continues.

Blackwall pops an eyebrow at her, “Righteous? High praise, Cassandra. Many Wardens have hardly lived righteous lives.”   
She nods acknowledging his words as she continues, “True, yet you give yourself to an Order that would die to protect others. It is never too late to do better, and become more than what you are.” 

Blackwall smiles at the stew and scrapes at the inside of the pot with his spoon, “that is the hope.”

Varric throws in one more pinch of his herbs then looks expectantly over at Blackwall, “Let's talk about your dark and troubled past.”

Blackwall stops stirring and looks back at him with offense in his voice, “Excuse me?”

“You have one, of course. Someone dear to you? Someone you failed to save?” Blackwall’s forehead furrows in disapproval, but it doesn't discourage Varric’s prodding, “Or a grave error in judgement, causing too many deaths? I've known a couple people like that.”

Cassandra scoffs. 

“Ooh, maybe betrayal! That's always good,” Varric continues his tone light and playful.

Blackwall’s face is stern, hints of anger at the corners of his eyes, yet his voice is reserved as he answers solemnly, “No.”

Varric pulls a piece of parchment and a quill from his bag, “You've got to give me something.”

“No, I don't. This conversation is over.”

Varric exaggerates his sigh, “Touchy.”

“Just hand me your bowl Dwarf,” the Warden demands and holds his hand out for Varric’s bowl. Varric grins and offers it to him, once filled Blackwall distributes the bubbling soup into the rest of our bowls. 

“Ignore Varric, Warden Blackwall,” Cassandra encourages as she holds her stew below her chin waiting for it to cool, “I always do.”

“I meant no offense Warden, you are just the perfect subject matter for a good story.” Varric defends himself, “then again I think a roguish Qunari mercenary with a heart of gold and an eagle eye with a bow standing at the cusp of destruction, healing the sky with his blessed hand, that will be the next book.”

“Well don't take any liberties Varric,” I grin, nervously sipping my soup.

“You are Varric Tethras the author aren't you?” Blackwall inquires, his tone pleasant.

“Guilty as charged,” Varric graciously bows his head like he is being introduced at court.

“I read some of your book. Riveting stuff. "Hard in Hightown", was it?” 

Varric’s interest peaks, “And you only read some?”

Blackwall drinks some of his stew then answers, “Well I... uh, found it in a latrine in a village near Charneau. It... was missing some pages.”

Everyone laughs except Varric, he sits in silence for a moment then joins in. 

“Fair enough Warden I'll leave you be, for now,” Varric stacks our bowls then spreads out his blanket a few feet from the fire, “but you are the stuff of a good tragedy, I feel it.” 

With a full stomach and the warmth of the fire I am unable to suppress my yawn. Blackwall has turned to his blanket and is fast asleep facing away from the fire. 

Solas sits rigid and cross legged with his hands relaxed on his knees, “sleep, I will watch the fire.”

The stars are brilliant above us, in the darkness the glow of the breach is subdued and for a moment I feel peace. The sounds of my sleeping comrades brings comfort and I trace out shapes in the twinkling lights until my eyes grow heavy.

 

_ The grassy hills roll farther than the eye can see, the Valos laugh around our campfire as I sit with falcons on my shoulders. Each one spreads its wings then they fly into the breach. I panic holding out my hand calling them to return but I cannot stop them as they dissolve into the green growing mass. Blackwall yells from the bottom of a mountain, the grey warden emblem on his armored chest stained in black blood, “beware the grey.” Then he seeps into the ground. Then I'm falling, all the stars grow dimmer until nothing's left but blackness. _

 

“Herald?” 

My eyes flutter open to Cassandra, already in her armor, kneeled beside me gently shoving my shoulder with her gauntleted hand. I'm instantly embarrassed as I wipe moisture from my mouth. I slept hard enough to drool, and I still feel my heart beating, I awoke before hitting the ground in my dream. She takes notice and gently prods, “are you alright?”

“Yes,” I pass it off wiping sweat from my forehead, “it is day? We should get moving.”

As I sit up Varric sets a stick of charred meat in my hands, “not before breakfast!” He chimes cheerfully, “hope you like grilled fennec fox!”

I smile, “breakfast in bed? You spoil me!”

He laughs and continues packing up his bedroll. Everyone is ready to go except me and I hurriedly eat my breakfast to catch up. Before the fire has dwindled to embers I'm ready to move out. 

“I wonder if that missing scout returned?” I comment as we wind our way through the rocks. 

“Hopefully,” Blackwall answers. 

“When we pass back through we can inquire with the other scout,” Cassandra offers as we reach a stone building speckled in dark green moss. Inside the wooden stairs wind up to a ledge, the structure is old. The planks creak under my weight so I try to tread lightly. 

“You are surprisingly agile for someone your size,” Solas complements me.

“Well, I'd be a poor scout if I shuffled around enemy camps like a herd of druffulo,” I smile, “and although I’m smaller than the average Qunari I have to admit sneak attacks aren't my speciality, it's better for me to sink beneath notice and strike from afar.”

“The Tal Vashoth in Kirkwall threw spears,” Varric adds. 

“Most Qunari that favor ranged attacks prefer Javelins, but have you ever packed around a quiver of 40 five foot poles before? They get noisy and catch on branches, almost more often then our horns,” I reply, my voice thick with amusement.

“I would think horns don't usually work well with bowstrings?” Varric continues calling up to me on the stairs, “is that why you keep yours short or you just trying to fit in? I know dwarves that wear thick soled boots to try and pass as humans in the bigger cities.”

I laugh imagining Varric in tall boots, “actually yes, but at first it was...an accident,” the only one close enough to see my face change as the memory washes over it is Cassandra, her eyes are concerned but I quickly shake off the feelings and continue, “but then I found with my horn missing my aim improved with my bow,” I stop at the top platform to face them and continue my narrative as they finish the stairs, “Once we reach adulthood it takes a long time for them to grow back, so I've kept this one short for my aim,” I point to my right horn approvingly. 

“Did it hurt?” Cassandra asks earnestly, her searching eyes not asking about just my horns. 

I scratch the back of my hand to distract my mind, “Well, it's sort of like fingernails, but at a certain point there is a wick and if you trim them too short it can be tender until it...heals,” I raise my eyes to hers as I answer honestly, “they were short enough to reach the wick, but,” I tap the ends playfully, “as you can see they are fine now.” 

Behind me the walls open to a stone fenced path that winds gracefully up to a stronghold built into the side of the mountain. 

“This must be cult headquarters,” Varric points as the full fortress comes into view. 

As we near the path there is a scream to my left and I abruptly turn to see two Templars engaging an Inquisition soldier. 

“Templar deserters!” Varric shouts and pulls Bianca over his shoulder. Cassandra and Blackwall sprint forward, shields ready, but Varric has already sent a bolt through the eye slot of one of the Templars. Blood spurting through his helmet he lets out an agonized cry as he folds to the ground. Cassandra shouts to distract the second Templar, he is wielding a greatsword but as he readies it above his head to strike, she throws her shield into his chin knocking his head back. Blackwall has circled to his back and skillfully glides his blade straight into the flesh between his shoulder blades. Blood splatters as the Templar gurgles falling forward into the dirt. It's over before I can get an arrow on my string. The scout stands breathless her bow aimed deliberating which of us to take aim at.

“Hold I'm the Herald!” I cry out holding my hands up in peace showing her my glowing mark, “we are with the Inquisition!”

She relaxes and lowers her bow, “I’m Ritts, I was scouting and then, well thank you sir, if you don’t mind I should probably report back.” 

I pause at the blanket with a dead Elf in robes on it, “This is a Mage…”

“Yes,” Ritts responds, “Eldredda, I think that was her name,” I pop an eyebrow as she stutters, “at least I’d heard other apostates call her that. The Templars attacked the apostate, I suppose I just got caught in the middle.” 

Beside the blanket is a bottle of wine, half its contents gone and a basket of apples, “It looks like someone was having a picnic…”

Ritts pulls the front of her tunic nervously, “uh yes, the Mage must have been hunting for….blood magic…”

Varric chuckles under his breath and Cassandra sighs with distaste.

“Scout?” I question.

“The truth then,“ she casts her eyes down studying the grass as it waves in the breeze, “I may have been passing time with Eldredda.”

This situation wasn’t unheard of in the Valos, I remember developing a crush on one of the recruits in a mercenary band hired opposite of us.  I let her go on the battlefield, my mouth curls into a coy smile at the memory, “you were trying to find a moment’s peace in the midst of this war.”

“We were..yes. At first she was just a Mage who saw me and didn’t attack, but later, we….are you going to report me?” her voice is worried but not pleading.

“What is our official stance on something like this?” I whisper to Cassandra.

“Do what you will, we have more important things to concern us,” she says her eyes disapproving on Ritts.

Varric holds his hand up to pause me and gives a reassuring nod, “Listen Kid, If you can talk an apostate out of her pants in the middle of a war, you’ve got a gift. Use it, make contacts, get information, and help the Inquisition.” He pauses to wait for me to nod approval, “Do that, and our lips are sealed.”

Ritts’ eyes soften as she considers his proposition, “alright, I can do that.” She smiles at me, “and thanks, for going easy on me.” She bows and takes her leave down the hill.

“That’s one way to recruit help,” Blackwall notes shaking the blood from his sword. 

My fingertips tingle, I look over my shoulder toward the stronghold, “Vale’s Intel was right.”

At the top of the stone path a woman in robes with hair tightly pulled into a bun greets us, “I know you. They call you the Herald of Andraste for what you did at Haven. But are you? The Maker has not told me.” Her eyes are hard on me searching for a sign from her Maker.

“I honestly don’t know myself,” I respond my tone sincere. 

“As I suspected. Stories of you mastering the rifts are just blind heresy.”

“No, I can seal rifts.” I hold up my hand as if seeing my palm could convince her.

“Then prove it,” she demands, “Show me that the rifts bend to your will, the will of the Maker. Show me the power you yield.” 

She motions with her hand and the iron door creaks as it pulls upward to allow us in. 

Inside more robed figures congregate in small groups, many heads turn as I walk guided by my hand down the earthen hallway. At its end a small circular cave sits with a slender line of green on its rocky low ceiling. 

“Good, the tear hasn't fully formed,” Solas notes. 

I push my palm toward it and my nerves go on fire. The green crack grumbles and moans as the tear breaks open spewing two bark like terror demons and several wisps. I pull my fingers closed and the rift groans and resists like a nursing calf at loosing its mother's teat. I'm able to will my arm to my quiver just in time to send an arrow through the face of a screaming terror demon. Its face twists in horror but it still pursues. My skin is warm with Solas’ barrier and I ready another arrow. Cassandra screams and lunges herself through the second bark demon. Blackwall shoves his shield through a wisp as Varric's bolt soars into the second one that was nearly on Blackwall. 

“Solas stay back,” Blackwall shouts and sprints toward the third wisp, it is nearly a foot away from the Elf. 

Solas closes his eyes and chants in Elven and the ground below the wisp forms a ring of light white frost, he waves his hand in a circular motion and the wind of his spell forms a small tornado that engulfs the wisp in ice. Blackwall lands his sword through the frozen wisp and it shatters like glass onto the ground. Solas then throws his outstretched hand to the fragments and each one bursts into sparks leaving only small piles of dust. The final wisp is met with a bolt from Bianca and slithers onto the ground. They don't appear to have a mass and I'm still perplexed, yet grateful, that we can damage them at all. The terror demon creeps toward me, I side step to flank it and send an arrow into its ribs, it throws its gangly gnarled hands in anger as its screech causes us to cover our ears. Blackwall screams and swings his blade low slicing right through both its legs, its body hasn't hit the ground yet before Cassandra drives her blade hard into its neck sinking it into the ground. The screeching stops as its mangled face turns to dust around her sword.  With the demons gone the rift circles quietly around us, the transparent green arms waver in a slow motion dance; it is almost peaceful. I stand below it with my palm ready to erase it's glowing mass. 

I turn to exit the cave to several dozen eyes watching me in awe. The crowd parts to allow Speaker Anais passage. She greets me with austerity, “I was a fool to have doubted you, how may we serve you Herald of Andraste?”

“Have your people help the refugees,” I command politely, “they need food, blankets, and healing.”

She nods, “as you say, Herald of Andraste. Some few of us will remain here, the rest will go forth to do your will. When the Maker calls you to your great purpose, remember that we served you.”

“One last thing,” I ask, “is there a young man here named Handel?”

“Yes, he's over there,” she points up toward the stairs.

“Thank you,” I bow. 

Once at the second story of the stone fortress we come upon a young blonde Elf standing over a table reading over some parchment. At the sound of our footsteps he turns, “I greet you,” his voice is soft and quiet, “my name is Handel.”

“Handel,” my words serious, “your mother can’t breathe. Your father sent me here for potions.”

His eyes crease into worry, “What? But she was fine! She hasn’t had the breathing trouble in,” his panic subsides, “alright, I can help,” he turns and ruffles through a small chest by his table.  His robed hand clasps a vial and a rolled up note as he turns, stretching to me, “here, I have some already made, and this is the instructions on how to make it, go, please, take it to her!” 

I tuck the vials and instructions safely in my pouch. 

“I wish we had our horses,” I sigh once we are out of his earshot. I regret we left them in the care of Inquisition soldiers at the crossroads to rest before our journey back to Haven. 

“If we make haste we can make it before nightfall,” Cassandra assures. Her eyes glance at me in reserved admiration. My heart beats faster and I have to look away to prevent my cheeks from going red from the attention. 

“I sense an artifact of my people,” Solas’ squinted eyes snap upward and he moves toward the ladder on the far side of the room.

“Let's check out his sparkly shall we,” Varric grins following. 

At the top of the ladder a small balcony over looks the fortress. As I walk toward the railing a table sits with a large oblong metal object. 

“Activating this should strengthen the veil in this area,” Solas speaks more to it than me. He hovers his hands over it, it's a sphere with three dark metal rings around it. The surface is covered with what I suspect are ancient Elven runes. Solas slides his fingertips gently in reverence over them then presses down in three places as though he was solving a dwarven puzzle box. The item starts to hum and the rings spin around it, “there” he says looking proudly at it. 

“If it helps,” Blackwall says with a hint of doubt. 

“Well Chuckles it does look pretty,” Varric teases. 

Solas ignores them both and looks to me, “let's return to the crossroads.”


	12. The Lesser of Two Evils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vane deliberates his options.

**Chapter 12: The Lesser of two Evils**

  
  


_ “There are two ways to skin tonight, let’s see who’s road gets there faster, _

_ This is a game, no wrongs, no right, only a winner and a loser” _

_ -Bastille _

 

“So this is Haven then?” Blackwall tilts his head up to the gates from the back of Cassandra’s horse. We only brought four horses with us and the decision happened so fast I couldn't find a suitable excuse to avoid it.  I'm already enough weight for Dathra, Varric’s horse is too small and Solas’ subtle dislike of grey wardens in general eluded him as an option. 

I'm relieved when Cassandra blurts out, “thank the Maker, I'm ready to be off this beast.” She doesn't take a liking to horses, throughout the trip she commented about the smell and even threatened to walk. 

“Home sweet home,” Varric amuses as we make our way to the stables. A group of stable hands relieve us of our horses. 

“Hi Laera” I smile and dismount as she greets my horse placing her hand on his nose. 

“Welcome back my Lord,” she replies with her head respectfully bowed. She guides him to the water trough. 

I intend to help her with the saddle but Cassandra touches my arm and instructs, “we will need to discuss Redcliffe with the others right away.”

Solas silently walks toward the inner city gates with Varric following behind him, “hey chuckles,” the dwarf grins, “how about a drink while the suits discuss politics?”

“I have no interest in ale, and less interest in the tavern,” Solas responds coldly.

“But Sera will want to know you've returned!” Varric teases still at his heels.

“Indeed,” Solas smiles thinly. He has an odd way of reacting to humor, making it difficult to determine whether he is amused or annoyed, maybe both, “she will be most interested when I reveal the details of the elven artifact I discovered near the crossroads. Perhaps she will have insight on the rune carvings I traced.”

Varric laughs, delighted that Solas is going along with him, “see I knew you two would be best friends.”

Their conversation trails off as they are swallowed by the city gates. 

“If you don't mind i’d like to settle in here,” Blackwall looks over at the stable storehouse on the far side of the blacksmith. 

“Harrit keeps supplies in there, I don't think he will-,” I take a step toward the blacksmith but Blackwall has already headed up to Harrit to introduce himself.

With the horses in good hands I walk with Cassandra through the gates, fresh snow crunching under our feet. Snowflakes gently fall on her face and i find myself envious of them, “Do you trust Fiona?” I ask although I already have a good idea of how she will respond. 

“I am not sure,” she peers ahead as we circle the path toward the Chantry, “It is odd she doesn’t remember meeting us in Val Royeaux, and I do not know what to make of that Tevinter and his time magic.”

“I’m afraid we would find ourselves with more problems than help. They did put themselves in the hands of Tevinter rather fast, time magic or not. They may just use the Inquisition as protection from the Templars.”

“I feel the same, but without more information on the Templar order I fear we may not have much choice.” Her eyebrows gather in concern. 

“Maybe Leliana will have found something?”

“Let us hope,” she nods in agreeance but her face still reflects her doubt.

“Good you’ve returned,” Leliana peers up from her table in her spymaster tent outside the Chantry doors, “I see you found Warden Blackwall.” She rolls up maps as she speaks. Word travels fast in this camp apparently. 

“We did, but he doesn’t seem to know anything about the Grey Wardens, but he wants to help the Inquisition,” I report stalling in front of the bird cages.  The bird from before recognizes me and flutters her wings. I help myself to a few seeds in the feed bag nearby and open her cage offering them.  Her pecking tickles my palm, I take my other hand and pet her head lightly with my forefinger, “hello again,” I coo at the bird. I'm thankful Leliana doesn't mind my comfort around her birds. 

“I will speak with him,” her blue eyes cold like an ice frozen pond.  “We have found leads on the location of the Templars, it seems Lucius has retreated to Theronfall Redoubt, come let us discuss this inside,” she gracefully motions her hand to the Chantry doors.

“We have news of the mages as well,” Cassandra adds following Leliana. 

I shake the remaining seed from my hand onto the bottom of the cage and shut the gate, “to business, see you later friend,” I bid the bird goodbye.

 

The war room is warm and smells of hay and candle wax. For half an hour we have been debating on the next move. The advisors are divided on opinion and the tension in the room intensifies as they circle the conversation.

“The mages-” Leliana offers but Cassandra cuts her off.

“Have pledged themselves to Tevinter,” the seeker argues.

I nod, “the mages may be willing, but at what cost? I don’t think negotiating with Alexius is the best option, and if the Templars become allies perhaps they can help us deal with Redcliffe.”

“Indeed,” Cullen affirms, “templars can help suppress the magic of the breach, and are best suited to contain potential threats mages pose.”

“The Inquisition could offer an alternative to Tevinter,” Leliana responds, “not all mages are a threat commander.”

“I know,” he rubs the back of his neck, “but now that they are held by that Magister, our options are limited. We would have to take them by force.”

“But an Orlesian army marching on Redcliffe could start a war,” Josephine snaps.

I stare down at the map on the table, tracing the lines between cities. “Is there a way to reach King Alistair? That arl of Redcliffe is his uncle, surely Ferelden will respond to Tevinter’s presence?”

Leliana nods, “I have sent a bird, I know the king and Teagen, but no reply has come.”

“The breach will not wait on politics,” Cassandra scowls.

Josephine writes rapidly on her parchment, “should we attempt an audience at Theronfal Redout I will need some time to solidify the connections we need to approach the Templars, with enough noble support they cannot refuse us.  My Lady Cassandra, breach or not, we cannot avoid politics.” 

Frustrated I push a pin into the map, “Ambassador, send your letters. In the meantime let’s continue building our forces and network. Let’s leave Redcliffe to the Ferelden authorities for now.”  Josephine’s lips part as she nods affirmation of my request.  

Leliana tilts her head to me, “Also, scout Harding has sent word from the Storm Coast, the mercenary group, “the Chargers” haven't arrived there as of yet, but she may have found some signs of Grey Wardens camping in the area. I recommend traveling there with Blackwall to see what you can find.”

“You can't still believe the Grey Wardens are involved with what happened to the Divine?” Cullen accuses. 

“It is worth investigation Commander,” she rebukes. 

“Solidifying the noble support we need will take time,” Josephine adds without looking up from her rapid writing, “the Herald could investigate the coast in the meantime.”

“I shall leave tomorrow morning then,” I nod. 

Josephine’s head snaps up, her eyes are warm on mine as she says, “Herald before you depart, there is the invite from Madame de Fer, she has requested you attend her salon, I have responded that you will be present. She is an Enchanter of the Orlesian court and supporter of the traditional circles, an alliance that could benefit our efforts in Orlais and with the Templars. I have also taken the liberty of ordering you proper attire for the occasion,” she looks me over, her eyes linger in an innocent flirtatious gaze that causes me to look back down to the table and nervously poke at the map. 

“When is this...party?” I ask self conscious from her attention. 

“In a couple of weeks, I recommend you stay only a few days at the storm coast if possible.”


	13. The Seeker Pentaghast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vane learns more about the Seeker

**Chapter 13: The Seeker Pentaghast**

 

_ “When I look into your eyes _

_ It's like watching the night sky _

_ Or a beautiful sunrise _

_ Well, there's so much they hold _

_ And just like them old stars _

_ I see that you've come so far _

_ To be right where you are _

_ How old is your soul?” _

_ -Jason Mraz _

 

I’m relieved to leave the war table behind as Cassandra and I walk through the Chantry doors together, the wind is chilled sifting off the snow but the sun is warm. Casually she tilts her head my direction and says in a reserved tone, “it occurs to me I don't actually know much about you.”

I smile back at her, excited for her attention, “what did you want to know?”

She slows her pace as she concentrates, “I don't really know...where are you from?”

“No specific place,” I answer honestly, “I was born in Wildervael, spent most of my childhood there... and in surrounding cities, in adolescence I spent a couple years in Orlais. For the last couple years my mercenary band worked mostly in the Free Marches around Wycome and Ostwick.”

“At least until you crossed the waking sea to reach the Conclave, I suppose?” 

“Yes, I was hired by a noble family to protect their Mage son who attended, we intended to be in Ferelden only a few weeks.”

She slows pace, “Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

I stop our walk and lock eyes with her, if I told her what it was really like living with the Valos she would either find me resilient, or pity me.  No, I don’t wish to return to my mercenary life. I also can't tell her that despite the hole in the sky, this has been the first time I’ve longed to be next to someone in a decade. Unable to discern the motive behind her question I decide to reply with ambiguity, “wherever I am is home enough for me.”

She smiles in relief, “that is how I feel now, after years of tending to business for the Divine.”

“Do you want something to eat?” I ask eyeing the bubbling cauldron on the fire in the distance.

Much to my delight she answers, “Yes, I'm famished.”

Once we dish up stew from the main fire we sit together on a nearby log bench. After a few bites in silence I blurt out less smoothly than I planned, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“You would?” she replies in disbelief. 

“Is that..a problem?” I nervously stir my soup.

“Not entirely,” she idly taps the edge of her bowl with her fingertips as she asks, “I’m just curious as to your motivation.”

“No motivation beyond making things between us less…” I search for the right word and all I can think of is holding her by the river, the memory of the ice on her, then I break eye contact as I recall my hand resting on her neck, keeping her warm. 

“Antagonistic?” she offers. 

I push back the warm memory and answer, “exactly, I want us... to be friends.” 

She sighs, “as you wish,” she begins speaking as though she were reading from a boring history novel, “my name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman, and was with the order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right hand, carrying out her order to form the Inquisition-and here we are.” We stand in silence for a brief moment and she adds with annoyed finality, “that is all there is to know my Lord.”

“Somehow I doubt that is all there is to know.” I shake my head and smile as she scowls. “What’s your favorite vegetable?”

She looks at me baffled, “what?”

I laugh, “to eat? Mine is potatoes.”

She looks at me like I’m daft but then shakes her head, “I suppose... carrots.”

I nod approvingly, “I had that suspicion, so, you’re a member of Nevarra’s royal family?” I ask taking her bowl for a refill.

“The Pentaghasts are a very large clan. Half of Cumberland could say the same,” she rolls her eyes. 

“Really?” I hand her replenished bowl back.

She shakes her head, “No, but it feels that way. I have hundreds of relatives so distant, they need charts to prove we’re related at all. And they have them,” her voice nears on vindictive, “oh yes. The Pentaghasts value their precious blood like it runs with gold.”

“And you joined the Seekers to get away from that?” I ask respectfully as I pick my carrots from my bowl and place them into hers.  Our circumstances are very different but I can relate to her desire to escape. I left home with another Valos sect when I was 17 and haven’t been back since.

Her face is stern, “It was a life worth getting away from. The Pentaghasts are famed for Dragon Hunting. But few actually pursue the craft. Most are fat and lazy. They pay lip service to the Maker and care only for idle pleasures and past glories. My brother was all that kept me in Nevarra.” She looks down at her bowl as her voice drops, “once he was gone, so was I.”

“Tell me about your brother?” Instantly i regret my inquiry when her face lines in sorrow, “I'm sorry you don't have to talk about anything uncomfortable.”

Noticing the extra carrots in her dish she smiles weakly, after a few spoonfuls, she places her bowl beside her as she continues, “Anthony was older than I, a dragon hunter who showed what a Pentaghast could truly be. I idolized him, I wanted to hunt dragons as he did, even though our uncle forbade it,” her eyes are sad but she smiles at the memory, “Anthony promised to train me in secret. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old, and then, he died on me. I was 12.”

It stings in my chest to see her pain, “I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have pried..” I apologize and look away feeling embarrassed, wondering if she's ever cared deeply for anyone since. 

“No,” she responds softly, her words beckoning me to look back into hers, “It’s fine..A group of Apostates wanted dragon blood, and wanted Anthony to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it.” Her eyes darken but her voice doesn’t falter as she adds, “In front of me. I begged the Chantry to let me become a Templar. Instead, they sent me to the Seekers. It took many years to let go of my drive for vengeance.”

“I think I understand how you felt,” I console, recalling memories of my past, “It’s not a feeling that ever goes away even if you can live around it.  Every now and then, it surfaces, that feeling of being helpless, of not being able to protect someone you love.”

“At times i could not breathe,” she confesses, “The rage nearly choked me. I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if Anthony was still alive. Would I be a dragon hunter? Married to a noble fool, a mother of three?” She smirks, “I cannot say. I take solace in believing the Maker has a plan, but...he’s not always kind.”

I gather our bowls intending to wash them but a passing servant relieves them from me. “Thank you,” I call to him, the servant boy smiles as he walks away. I gesture for her to walk with me, “shall we?” She stands and we head toward the main gate. “You don’t seem to like your homeland much.”

Her voice flows with more comfort than before, “My family polluted it for me. What little I saw of my homeland was through the bars of a gilded cage. My uncle treated me like a porcelain doll to be placed on a shelf and dusted only when necessary. Thus I did not see Nevarra, the real Nevarra, until much later. By then I realized I knew it not at all.”

“I can’t imagine you docile and caged,” I gasp and she grins. Opening the main doors I shift the conversation, “So you were the Right Hand to the Divine? I’m not even fully sure what that is, just that it was a place of importance within the chantry.”

“To Divine Justinia, yes,” she smiles, “and Divine Beatrix before her, in fact. The position is normally reserved for Templars of the Knights-Divine, but my circumstances were...unusual.” 

“Unusual how?” my interest is peaked.

“You don’t know the story?” her voice thick with disbelief, then she sighs in relief, “thank the Maker. I will tell you if you wish, but it isn’t as exciting as some drum it up to be.”

I pause our walk and stand in anticipated silence.

She rolls her eyes, “the short version is that I once saved the previous Divine’s life. My reward was becoming her right hand.”

The sound of swords clattering around us feels like the most natural place for her to be as we arrive at the sparring grounds. She walks over to a rack of swords, eager to continue training but I interrupt her intentions by asking, “So, what’s the long story about you becoming the Right Hand?”

She drops the blade back into the rack and looks up at the sky, “sweet Andraste, do you really want to hear that?”

“I want nothing more than to know now,” I encourage playfully.  She sighs then a smile touches her eyes.

“It was, what-eighteen, twenty years ago? Some still discuss it like it happened yesterday. The tale gets bigger each time it’s told. I barely recognize myself within it now.”

I chuckle to reassure her, “I’m sure you’re just being modest.”

She scoffs in protest, “I was there, I think i know what happened. To hear others tell it,” she animates grand gestures with her hands as she speaks, “I alone saved Divine Beatrix from a horde of dragons sent to assault the Grand Cathedral.” She smirks, “rather impressive for such a young Seeker wouldn’t you say?”

“And the truth is?”

She continues with less enthusiasm, “I stumbled upon a conspiracy to kill Beatrix. A Templar Knight-Commander was at its heart. And there was a dragon battle at the Grand Cathedral, but I had help from loyal mages who rallied to the cause. They freed the dragon from magical control. Without them, the Divine and I would both have died,” she turns her eyes to the ground, “yet I became the Right Hand, and they are forgotten.”

“What happened to the mages that helped you?”  
She looks up at me, “they went back to their circles, with rewards and privilege and most Holy’s gratitude.” Her voice becomes sorrowful, “Many of them died at the Conclave.”

“They were your friends.”

“One of them was, yes.”

We stand in silence for a bit watching the recruits fight. Her mouth turns to a hard frown as one of them takes a hit from leaving an obvious opening. She walks over to the rack and pulls a sword. “Recruit?” Both turn to face her as she approaches them. 

“Seeker Pentaghast?” The one clearly singled out by her eye contact responds. 

“Stand like this,” she demonstrates and he mirrors her. “Don’t pull your shield up over your eyes it will block your sight leaving you vulnerable here,” she taps his leg with her sword. He nods and lifts his shield. “If attacked from above tighten your grip and tilt it this way,” she guides his shield as she instructs. She nods and slowly swings her blade down on him, he complies with her lesson and successfully blocks her attack. His face lights up and she resets, then hits him in full swing, he successfully blocks. Pleased with his progress she smiles ,”keep practicing,” and returns to the dummy where I'm still standing. 

As she nears I confess, “You're delightful you know that?”

“No,” she argues, “I do not know that.” She sets her stance preparing to take a swing at the dummy.

“Uh-hmm” I nod my eyes teasing.

She turns her attention to the dummy to hide her smile, “I object. There is nothing ‘delightful’ about me.” She swings but in her distraction glances her sword off the top of the dummy. She scowls and stabs it square into its torso. The blade remains taunt in the wood as she turns to face me, crossing her arms in protest.

“I beg to differ,” I object, my eyes hard on hers. I want nothing more than to kiss her. To tell her how my heartbeat quickens when she looks at me like that, how i long to hold her again, but my words are caught in my throat. 

She over exaggerates her sigh, “I think I preferred you in the stocks.” Her voice is harsh but her eyes are intrigued. She pulls the sword out of the dummy. The same recruit from before heads toward us.

“Seeker?...” He readies his shield. 

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to work,” I grin, retreating before I embarrass myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my friends who not only tolerate my obsessions but accept and encourage them. The fruits of my creative outlet presented here would never be possible without them. And from me to all you internet strangers, for taking the time to read this, you make my weird little heart happy, Ma Serannas.


End file.
